


No Better

by stuckinabottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheating, Crossdressing, Harry Centric, Harry is stupid, M/M, Modeling, Recreational Drug Use, Sexy Times, Zayn is kind of a dick, general bad behavior, questionable decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/pseuds/stuckinabottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is a veteran model and Harry stupidly somehow managed to get himself signed at Payne Models.</p><p>or the one where Harry and Zayn fuck, fuck each other over and are stupid assholes to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is Harry

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where this is going. It's like about 8 chapters long and still being written quite quickly.  
> I literally know nothing about the fashion industry except for some basic googling

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

It had been a fairly ordinary day, well let’s face it, Harry's entire life was fairly ordinary. Monotonous, lacked real excitement really. He grew up in a small village, worked at a bakery all through his youth and finally decided to move to the big city once he had saved up enough money.

 

Moving out to the big city had been an adjustment at first. It didn't help that the big city was the Big Apple, in America of all places. Harry was shocked at the utter rudeness of others at times. He hadn't really thought through his move too well, though. He just packed his bags one day and that was it. Six hours later he landed on American soil for the first time, with a few exchanged dollars in his pocket and no semblance of a dream. That first day, he showed up at a few places looking for work then sorted out his living arrangements.

 

He ended up renting an extremely dingy flat in a questionable neighborhood and barely managed to pay the bills by working at a quaint, vaguely hipster tea shop, that also served delectable baked goods. He preferred to call his flat homey, but it was really just cramped. At the tea shop, Harry mostly manned the cash register until he graduated to being a part of the baking team. He supposed his prior work at the bakery in his home town had helped him out there. 

 

Now Harry had always been a fairly attractive lad growing up, certainly no one would have ever called him ugly. He had his fair share of liaisons as a teenager and had recently ended a long relationship with his fifth form sweetheart just before he moved out to the city. Which was why he was utterly surprised when a lovely customer, who was probably around thirty years old, ridiculously gorgeous and fashionable, asked him if he had ever considered modeling.

 

He bashfully answered in the negative. 

 

"My name is Caroline. Caroline Flack. Give me a call if you're interested," she handed him business card and winked. With a flip of her glossy brown hair she paid for her order.

 

Harry looked down at the card, which read:

 

 

 

He slipped the card into his apron pocket, handing Caroline Flack her latte with an easy smile. He forgot about the whole interaction by the end of his incredibly long shift.

 

 

...

 

He honestly hadn't given any thought to Caroline's offer until one day he had the misfortune of running smack into a biker, knocking the man right off of his bike and into a bush. A rather prickly bush at that, combined with a rather prickly person. 

 

"Oh my god, are you quite alright?" Harry said, growing concerned as the man lay unmoving. His helmet had been knocked askew and his eyes were closed. To Harry's relief, the biking man groaned rather loudly. The he rubbed a hand over his lightly scruffed face. The man was suddenly very alert, he quickly flounced down from the bush, a litany of colorful words escaping his lips. Harry was little taken aback at his revolution of character.

 

The man had several scrapes and a sour look on his face. "Am I alright? Do I look like I’m alright to you? Do you see this? This is my face. This is the money maker," the man was livid pointing frantically at his face. 

 

"Oh my god. I'm already late. And thanks to you jerkoff, I'm going to lose my job probably," the man gestured towards Harry unhappily. There might have been a middle finger mixed in, but he was gesticulating so quickly Harry could hardly tell.

 

"Look I'm so sorry. I'll pay to replace your bike...I can't, I don't have the money right now, but..."

 

"Oh my god. He thinks it's about my bike! The man thinks it’s about my bike." the man was near hysterics, clutching at his hair and making the strangest of faces.

 

"You know what, you're the total moron who ran into me. So I'll take you and you can explain what's wrong to my boss. Got it?" the man said with a wicked gleam in his eye. He looked insane, some blood trickling down his face, blue eyes blown wide open.

 

"What? No, I have a job as well, I'm going to be late!" Harry said weakly, as the other man clamped a firm grip onto his wrist. 

 

He dragged Harry away from the scene of the accident, abandoning his bike. Harry didn't mention it and let himself be dragged all the way to a warehouse a few blocks away. The man kept muttering to himself quietly, Harry tried to ignore it.

 

 

...

 

"Louis, how nice of you to join us. Between the two of you I never know who will show up latest. Too bad for you you're last today," said a clipped voice attached to a man who currently had his phone glued to his ear.

 

The warehouse though decrepit on the exterior was actually a huge studio of some sort. High ceilings, white walls and black curtains everywhere demarcating different sections. There were emaciated women stalking around with harried looking personal assistants running around after them.

 

"What the fuck happened to your face? And please tell me who the hell this is?" the man sounded more and more displeased by the minute, removing his phone from his ear slowly.

 

"Oh hi Liam. I'm just great thanks for asking. I love how much you care. Oh this? This is my assailant, his name is, well nobody cares. But we ran into each other and he knocked me into a bush and that's why my face looks like this. Just, like make him pay or something, shall I get Niall on the phone?"

 

"Good god. Simon is going to be livid," Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, "This shoot has already been rescheduled twice."

 

"Louis...." the man called Liam said in a low voice. Harry couldn't tell if he was angry or amused. He then turned to Harry eyeing him up and down. 

 

"You, what's your name?" Liam pointed to Harry. 

 

"Erhm, I'm Harry, Harry Styles?" 

 

"Ahh, I thought you looked familiar. You got a great face, nice eyes. Liam Payne of Payne Models. I was a bit surprised you never got in contact with us earlier. Flack is usually a good seller." Liam shook Harry's hand vigorously. He then held up his iphone, showing a blurry picture of Harry behind the counter at his little tea shop. “Flack sent me this. You photograph well. You’re pretty tall as well.”

 

"Wait---what! What the hell is this about now? Are we not going to talk about al of this?" Louis exclaimed pointing at his face. He looked livid. Liam however did a pretty good job of ignoring him, it helped that he was nearly a head taller than Louis. 

 

Then Liam turned to Louis and frowned when looked at his torn up face. To Harry he said, "I know this is last minute, but how do you feel about filling in for Louis today? It's only fair since his face isn't usable. Plus it's nice to have a fresh face around here every once in a while."  

 

"Eh, sure? I guess I should probably call my boss and tell her I won't be in."

 

“And don’t worry, you’ll be compensated generously for your time. Sure go ahead, though.”

 

"Are you being serious right now?" Louis screeched, nearly stamping his feet on the ground. Liam still ignored him.

 

"Come here Harry, let's get you into hair and make up, then," Liam slung an arm around Harry's shoulders. Liam directed Harry towards one of the black curtained areas in the warehouse, greeting various people who seemed in utter awe of him.

 

"Hey, Watson," Liam said to a woman holding a measuring tape, pin in mouth currently marking chalk lines at various lengths along the dress of a woman with long cascading blonde waves.

 

"Mhmm?" she said without looking up.

 

"Can we see of anything in wardrobe fits young Harry here? He'll be filling in for Louis who, unfortunately, won't be shooting for some time."

 

"I'm right here!" Louis called, his voice echoing through the entire space. Liam made a tsking noise and shook his head a little, but made no movement to placate Louis or even chastise him. Harry found it odd. Louis was basically doing a little dance trying to distract Liam, get his attention, but to no avail.

 

"I'll see what I can do," Caroline Watson said, eyeing Harry up and down a little suspiciously, "Can't say Simon will be pleased with the last minute switch...but, this one, well he looks alright."

 

Caroline marched over to Harry and began taking his measurements. She had him raise his arms to get his bust and whatnot. Harry couldn't help but to yelp when she took his inseam. She chuckled at that.

 

“He’ll do. He’s got pretty common sizes. I can definitely scrounge something together. I just don’t know if Simon is going to like this...” Carline mumbled, then walked off towards a rack of clothing.

 

"Good, good," Liam rubbed his palms together, "now let me introduce you to Lou, I think you'll get on quite nicely."

 

Liam steered Harry behind yet another room enclosed by black curtains. There he was thrust into the hands of Lou, a smiley blonde haired woman. She took one look at Liam then at Harry with a frown.

 

"He's late. My model was due a half hour ago," she crossed her arms.

 

"Harry here, he's filling in for Louis. Please, make him look passable, good even," Liam said curtly. Liam bowed his head slightly then took his leave.

 

Lou raised her eyebrows, but steered Harry by the elbow and slung him into a chair. Lou rubbed some nice smelling something all over Harry's face.

 

"You're skin is a little oily. Do you exfoliate at all?" asked Lou, with a frown. She continued her work on Harry’s face.

 

"Exfoli-what?" 

 

"Oh dear," Lou said, biting her lip, "Harry love, don't you worry your pretty little head too much about it." 

 

Harry just sat and enjoyed the feeling of having his face massaged and coated with make up. The brush was tickly and man, Harry could get used to this kind of pampering. He especially loved when Lou started working on his hair. The tugging and all was foreign at first, but soon became soothing. Like somebody cared.

 

That's when he realized he hadn't been touched by another human being since he moved out. Other than the brushing of hands during the transaction of bills and receipts every now and then. It felt nice, to have another human validate his existence, even in the smallest of ways. He was lonely.

 

"Well, all set Harry," Lou spun Harry to face a mirror. “Try not to touch your face too much.”

 

Harry blinked in the mirror, before recognizing himself. His hair was swept up, and gelled into place. He reached up to feel it, but Lou slapped his hand away. In addition to the hair, he had a shit ton of make up on. It made his cheekbones stand out, where they hadn't before. He looked kind of gaunt to be honest.

 

"Umm..." was all he could muster.

 

"Oh dear, have you never seen any of Simon Cowell's work?"

 

"Who?" 

 

Lou shook her head. "You're going go be late for the shoot. But Simon Cowell is like the talent magnet. You get shot by him enough and you're modeling career will skyrocket. If he likes you, well let's just say you're going to make it big. He's launched all sorts of people. Like, Cara Delevigne, RJ King, Leona Lewis, and duh our very own Zayn," Lou explained.

 

"Can't say I have heard of any of those people," Harry shrugged. 

 

"Oh my, you're in for a big one then," Lou shook her head, "If you make it through this shoot alive and wanna come back for more, tell me. Cause you need a serious crash course on the industry."

 

"How can it be that bad?" Harry asked innocently. Lou seemed to be prepping him for the worst.

 

"Just do whatever he tells you," Lou advises, "Simon that is."

 

"Now get, off to wardrobe with you," she waved him on.

 

 

...

 

"Oh my god. Simon is going to have such a fit, where have you been mister?" Caroline snapped. She was pissed.

 

"Well? Don't just stand there, strip down."

 

Harry did. And stood sort of awkwardly in his pants and socks next to a rack of clothing. It quickly became chilly in the room. Gooseflesh broke out all over his body. He shivered, and hugged himself a little bit.

 

"Ummm, what are all of those?" Caroline asked, clearly not impressed by Harry's array of tattoos.

 

“My tattoos?”

 

"Is that what the kids are calling bad life choices nowadays? You better thank god, you're wearing something that covers those up," she shook her head, "Also lose the pants and put these on."

 

Harry stared at the skimpy thong like scrap of nude colored fabric that she handed him. Caroline looked impatient so he took the underpants gingerly, holding it up in front of his face. They were quite tiny. He turned them around in his hands trying to figure out which parts of the underwear would actually cover which parts of his body.

 

"What are you waiting for then? Get them on!" Caroline sounded exasperated.

 

"Uh, could you maybe turn around?"

 

Caroline shook her head. "I do not get paid enough to deal with this newb model shit," she muttered under her breath. 

 

 

...

 

Harry finally was pushed onto the set a few minutes later. He walked rather stiffly, well waddled really, towards the main part of the set. The thong wasn’t agree with him very well. A simple white backdrop had been set up. His costume was itchy and uncomfortable. He was wearing some strange new age sort of vaguely reminiscent of a wrestling belt around his midsection, which cinched the billowing sort of white shirt he had on. Harry thought he looked rather like a pirate. Especially because he had on the tightest pants ever. He wasn't even sure if leggings even qualified as pants. They were more like a second skin.

 

A harried looking personal assistant scurried over to him, "You! Yeah you. What are you doing just standing around? Get your ass on deck," he shoved Harry into a pack of preening female models. They were all so tall and so very skinny.

 

"Where is he? He was supposed to be here an hour ago. I wait on no one," an angry looking man in a tight black t-shirt stormed on to the set, followed by an apologetic Liam.

 

"You know how he is. Simon, I promise he'll be out in a second."

 

"Payne, let's get a few things in order. This is my shoot. I'll use someone off the street if he's here on time. I cannot put up with this diva crap."

 

The room had gone completely silent. Everyone was eavesdropping in on Liam and the man's heated discussion.

 

"You know what I changed my mind. I don't want Zayn anymore. Give me something fresh, something innocent, something that can change and grow throughout the whole of this campaign." all of a sudden Simon locked eyes on Harry, he made a beeline straight to him. 

 

"Who is this, where have you been hiding him Payne?" Simon looked Harry up and down with a critical, appraising eye.

 

"That's Harry, he's Louis' replacement."

 

"How would you like to be the new face of my campaign, boy?" Simon asked.


	2. This is Zayn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets sick, sleeps with a stranger, eats dinner not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas y'all!

It took Harry a good twenty minutes to scrub all of the make up off his face after the photo shoot. The skin on his face was left feeling raw and tingly. Like he had scrubbed off a lot of dead skin and a lot of regular skin as well. Simon had been thrilled with him. Harry wasn't entirely sure why. Simon kept saying how good Harry looked, so young and full of promise. Everyone on set had been completely shocked that he had replaced Zayn with Harry. Harry had been too. Who was this Zayn anyways?

 

What was even becoming of Harry's life? This morning he had been just another barista with a dream in the big city. Now he was apparently the face of an international fashion campaign. It was kind of difficult to wrap his head around.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me? Zayn's going to---oh it's you?" Louis appeared at the door, phone glued to his ear. Harry had been given use of one of the curtained off areas. Louis looked unhappy, the scratches on his face made his frown even more menacing.

 

Harry gave a half wave.

 

"You better borrow some clothes from wardrobe," Louis sighed unhappily, "Those duds you were wearing earlier aren't going to cut it at dinner."

 

"Dinner?" Harry asked dumbly. Louis rolled his eyes.

 

"Wow, picked a real smarty here. Dinner with Simon and Liam? To discuss the contract, duh?" 

 

"Oh, so that's what they were talking about."

 

"No worries. Gotta learn someday. Anyways I'll see you later, I suppose."

 

"Why?" 

 

"Umm, it's Thursday, so the whole office goes out for after dinner drinks at La Boca. I guess since you're being signed tonight, that means you're invited," Louis explained, sounding extremely bored.

 

“But I’m not twenty-one.”

 

Louis sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Then I suppose everyone in the office will have to buy you a round, newb.”

 

"Thanks I guess," Harry said to Louis retreating back. Harry could hear him screaming into the phone in the hallway after he had left.

 

...

 

"So Harry. How does a $25,000 advance sound?" asked Simon. They were out to dinner at some restaurant so fancy a week ago Harry wouldn't have even been allowed to be the bus boy here. Even in his borrowed clothing, the maître d had snorted at him when he walked in late.

 

Harry made a choking noise. He drank too much water. $25,000 as an advance? That seemed a ridiculous amount for just posing for a few pictures here and there.

 

He felt alien in his borrowed clothes. A tight cut gray suit accented with leather lapels. A smart skinny tie really brought the outfit together, according to Caroline. 

 

Simon was wearing a blazer over the tight black shirt he had on earlier, but somehow he managed to look as commanding as Liam who wore the same sharp suit he had in the morning. Harry felt wholly out of his element. And he was supposed to be the one that people looked at?

 

"Cowell, he may be a bit green behind the ears, but he's a Payne model and I won't let him take that little," Liam smirked. He adjusted the knot of his tie coolly.

 

Harry kind of zoned out a bit while the two men chatted about the ins and outs of the contract. Every so often they'd ask Harry a question or two, but for the most part he was left alone. Mostly he stared at his own reflection in the silverware, oh and he ate some as well.

 

The food he was eating was so rich, so full of flavor if made his stomach ache. His bottomless wine glass was no help either. Simon and Liam being with him seemed to negate the fact that he was not yet twenty-one. He definitely couldn't go out for drinks after this. He would surely explode.

 

"Harry?" Liam got his attention, "Simon and I were just saying you're kind of a skinny bloke. We think it might be worthwhile for you to gain a few. I think a stone will do. You’d be right where we want you."

 

"Agreed. I think with just a little more definition you'll be right where I need you," said Simon, squeezing Harry's bicep.

 

"I'll make you an appointment with the best nutritionist in town. We'll get you on a regimen," Liam explained. Harry's gut gurgled at the thought of any food. He was going to be sick. But he wasn't sure if it was the food or his rising excitement.

 

...

 

It was the food. Harry found himself face down in an alley at La Boca some three hours later. By the coaxing of Liam and then Louis, then Lou, then Louis and thrice Louis, he had drank way more than he ever had in his life. And boy did his body hate him for it.

 

"That's nasty, man," said a disgusted voice. It belonged to a man who was leaning against the brick wall all cool and unaffected like. Of course he was smoking as well, Harry could see the orangey glow of the burning man's cigarette, even with his bleary, tear filled eyes.

 

Despite all the throw up, the man made no motions to leave. The back of Harry's neck prickled at the feeling of being watched intently. He heard a hiss, then the crunching of something under a heel. The man paced towards Harry, who was doubled over making friends with the side of a dumpster. Caroline was going to kill him for ruining this suit, he thought weakly.

 

"Just say no, next time," the man offered Harry a tissue to wipe his mouth with.

 

Harry nodded blindly and accepted it. 

 

"Thanks."

 

"It's nothing. We've all been there. You going to be alright? Do you need me to get your friends or something?" He rubbed a comforting hand a couple times on Harry's upper back.

 

"Umm, I came alone." Harry didn't want his new boss and mainly Louis to see him like this. The man scratched at his stubble. Like he was thinking of something.

 

"Do you live close? I can call a cab." 

 

Harry shook his head, he hadn't the money on him for a cab. What was he thinking? This felt like a new low. 

 

"Okay, you know what, I live like just over there. If you want, come and use the bathroom, freshen up and then we can get you home. Does that sound alright, yeah?”

 

"How do I know you're not going to kill me?" Harry grumbled, his stomach felt a little better since he had emptied its contents. He might have been a little drunk still, though. Definitely a possibility.

 

The man chuckled, then helped Harry to standing. He put one arm around Harry's waist and slung one of Harry's arms over his shoulders. 

 

"Okay, let's get going."

 

Harry complied with slight difficulty, opting to lean most of his weight onto the friendly stranger. 

 

...

 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. He had done a shit job of taking his makeup off earlier and his suit was rumpled and dirtied. His hair looked like something a bird would love to nest in. All in all grade-A loser.

 

"You doing okay in there?" his stranger called, muffled through the door.

 

Of course the man's flat was a damned two-floor penthouse. It was disgustingly nice and had a beautiful view. The decor was minimal but effective. Mostly in black and white, all clean lines, and effortlessly modern. The bathroom was also pristine. Clear glass basin with the loveliest looking jacuzzi bath tub Harry had ever seen. In short the man was loaded.

 

Harry splashed some water onto his face, when the man knocked on the bathroom door rather frantically. 

 

"Come in." 

 

"Hey, sorry to bother you. How are you feeling?"

 

"I've been better. Do you need me to get out or something? Cause I can do that."

 

"Not exactly, more of a favor actually. My girlfriend is here, but we're on a break. Could you maybe pretend that you're my uni friend or something? If I have company she won't go nuts on me."

 

"I guess."

 

"Thanks. Here are some clean clothes. That's a pretty nice piece you got on, you're going to want to get it dry cleaned. I know a great guy, he can get stains out of anything."

 

The man ducked out of the bathroom leaving Harry to change. Harry shucked his clothes and donned the new ones. They were pretty nice to the touch. Soft and expensive feeling.

 

Taking a deep breath he left the bathroom and walked out into the hall.

 

"You have a friend over, yeah right. Don't give me that shit mister."

 

"Pez, you know I wouldn't lie to you. I promise, look here he is."

 

Harry awkwardly waved at the angry looking lilac haired girl standing in the foyer. She had several piercings and deep purple color on her lips. She brightened a little bit upon seeing him.

 

"Oh, you didn't tell me your friend was so, so tall," she nearly cooed. She dragged her eyes up and down the length of Harry’s body. Harry felt like some piece of meat up for scrutiny at the butcher’s. Harry would have snorted, but that would have been rude.

 

"Yah, Perrie this is...Pierre," the man fumbled a bit for the name. Harry nearly laughed when he realized he had just rearranged the penultimate letter in his girlfriend's name to make his code name.

 

"Pierre? So, Pierre, are you French?" she asked, twirling a curl of hair around one of her fingers. The man looked a little distressed, something in his jaw twitching, his brow knitted together. His eyes were saying, don’t mess this up for me.

 

"Um, no actually," Harry saved, "My parents though, they just love the French. What can I say? C'est la vie. Your boyfriend and I were just reminiscing the glory days. I'm only in town for tonight."

 

"Yeah." The man looked visibly relieved. His shoulders relaxed a bit, an easy smile returning to his impeccable face.

 

"Well, fine. And you, we are nowhere near done talking about this." She glared at the man, poking him with her painted index finger square in the chest. Then with a flounce she slammed the door as she left the flat.

 

"You are a life saver," the man was visibly relieved.

 

Harry shrugged. "No really, you have no idea how long it takes me to get rid of her normally."

 

The man came close to him, smiling bright. Harry noticed he had little flecks of gold in his eyes. And light stubble. He had a strong jaw line, and perfect tan skin. His hair was flat sort of swept to one side, but Harry noticed his sides were shaved.

 

"I hope you listerined, Pierre," his breath ghosted over Harry's lips. And then they were kissing. Harry didn't know what was going on. But he acquiesced to the man's insistent kisses. He was a really good kisser, and Harry really wanted to see the master bedroom in this swanky penthouse.

 

...

 

They made it to the bedroom without too much trouble, clothes haphazardly strewn across various parts of the house. The stranger didn't seem to mind that his very nice clothes were currently strewn all over the floor. And Harry was much too preoccupied to care.

 

When they did actually make into the bedroom, the man nearly threw Harry onto his very large bed. It surprised Harry because his stranger was certainly smaller looking than him. 

 

"Who'd have thunk we'd be hooking up, with you look all shitty throwing up earlier?" said the man, as he trailed his hands followed by his lovely mouth down Harry's torso. Nipping and mouthing at various parts of Harry’s skin.

 

"You don't look so bad yourself down there," Harry said, as the man caressed Harry's cock against his stubbled cheek.

 

"Cheeky, are we? I think I like you Pierre."

 

"You know that's not my real--" Harry began but was cut off when the man swallowed his cock whole. Apparently this handsome stranger had no gag reflex. 

 

Harry moaned pretty wantonly. Then the man seemed to change his mind, he held Harry's cock in hand, and produced a tube of lube from thin air. 

 

"Can I?" 

 

Harry who had never done this before, even though he had definitely thought about it many times before. But his dick was harder than it had been in his entire life, the girls in his home town were not quite as sexually talented. He has always wanted to try it too. So it made it an easy decision. 

 

"Yeah." 

 

The man coated his fingers generously with lube, for which Harry was grateful. It still burned a little when the first one went it, well a lot actually. Harry was sweating and breathing pretty heavily. His pants came out as little gasps, he bit one of his hands as the man worked his finger in and out carefully.

 

"Wow, you're really tight," he muttered, "Just relax a little." 

 

He rubbed a soothing hand on a Harry's stomach. Harry had gone soft too by the time the second finger was in. 

 

The man took Harry back into his mouth, and sucked rather diligently while still working his fingers inside Harry. The burn had subsided a bit, giving way to a sort of pleasurable squirming feeling that started somewhere unmentionable and spread like tendrils all the way to the tips of Harry's toes and fingers. They curled in response, seeking purchase on the bedspread.

 

"Are you going to fuck me?" Harry asked, a bit nervous. He swallowed.

 

"If you want me too?" the man replied. 

 

"Yeah." 

 

The man extricated himself from Harry and returned with a condom. He skillfully rolled it on and coated his erection with more lube. Harry sucked in a nervous breath, as he felt something large and blunt line up with his entrance.

 

Harry thought he was going to be split in two. The man, looked beautiful, though. A light sheen of sweat across his brow. Hair falling a bit over his face. Harry felt like crying. He was losing his virginity to some hot stranger whose name he didn't even know. This day had been too much.

 

Finally his cock fully seated in Harry, balls flush against Harry's ass. Harry squirmed a little, trying to get used to the feeling of being so full. 

 

"You're so damn tight," he heard the man groan. 

 

"Sorry?"

 

"Nah, it's kind of hot," he leaned over and began kissing at Harry's neck while thrusting lightly. Harry cried out when the man bit down at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, as he simultaneously fucked himself torturously slowly into Harry. Harry wriggled his hips slightly, in an attempt to get more.

 

Soon the pain was less pain, and more holy shit what the fuck was that, the man's cock grazed something inside Harry that had him keening and sobbing and whimpering for more. His beautiful stranger happily complied, picking up his tempo and letting lose more. His thrusts became rougher, less controlled and precise, he threw his head back to let out long moans. Until they both were coming with various grunts and heaving.

 

After laying there for a second, the man rolled off Harry and came back with a rag, gently cleaning them both up.

 

"Not bad Pierre, not bad." He lay down on the bed, and threw an arm over Harry's side. Harry found himself unable to not snuggle back into the stranger’s touch.

 

...

 

"Wait, I never got your name?" Harry sat up in bed all of a sudden, the sheets coming to pool around his crotch. The man bristled at the unsettling of his cuddling. Harry had been tucked comfortably into his side. Which didn't make much sense since, Harry was certainly a little bit taller than him. And who even cuddles on one night stands?

 

"Oh. My name is Zayn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. See ya next time.


	3. This is Where the Trouble Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is stupid, feels stupid, and Louis is kind of mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline is a little jumpy in the first few sections whoops.

Harry felt like such an idiot on his way to the office. Well, to put it frankly he felt pretty damned stupid a lot of the time, just more so now than usual. It was a week after the incident now. That was what he liked to refer to it, the incident or that one time where he slept with the hottest and most popular male model of the current time who he also just stole the job of. Not exactly his proudest moment.

 

He shrugged his thin canvas jacket around him tightly; the air was a little nippy and damp. Of course, he had omitted to bring a raincoat to America with him. The rain pattered lightly around him. Matting his hair down onto his forehead. Water dripped off the end of his nose, wetting his shirt. The sky was gray, overcast. It seemed to drag its foggy, cloudy feet mirroring Harry's own belabored steps.

 

Harry stopped all of a sudden, rooted in his spot, stunned, by beauty. He was standing in front of a giant billboard that had Zayn's beautiful face plastered across it. How could he have not recognized him? The man was literally everywhere. Bus stops, taxi cabs, the occasional garbage can. Walk into any super market and his face seemed to be staring out from all the magazine racks. Harry laughed because of course the only one night stand he had ever had was haunting him constantly.

 

Granted, Zayn did look a tad different with his hair done up, but the smolder, the beautiful jawline, the sultry pout, they were all the same. What was most disconcerting was his eyes, though. How they leaped out from the billboards and pierced Harry deep in his core. They seemed to taunt and even mock him with their smugness. Harry sighed.

 

But all Harry could really think about was how Zayn’s stubble had felt so right against his cheek, the crook of his neck, and brushing harshly on the sensitive skin he didn’t even knew he had of his pelvic region. Stop. This had to stop. It had been a week now, since the incident. Or the sexcapade. 

 

After his stranger dropped that he wasn't a stranger and was in fact Zayn, Zayn the model, whose campaign he had just commandeered, Harry had hot tailed out there. Even though Zayn was calling Pierre after him with the promise of more fucking and plenty of blow jobs. Harry had never in his whole life felt such a sense of wrongdoing. He felt so cheap and so dirty. Worst of all he knew that any possible spark would be dampened with Zayn’s discovery of his identity. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been, clearly. Too entranced by Zayn's good looks, nice house and kindness.

 

He had walked all the way home after hauling ass out of Zayn’s penthouse. A good 50 block jaunt home at three in the morning is good for the soul. Builds character. Well, Caroline was certainily never going to get that suit back. He just hoped she would pity him. He was lucky enough to have managed to grab those damned oxfords on the way out. It would have been horrible to walk home barefoot.

 

...

 

The morning after he slept with Zayn, well a few hours later really, Harry found himself anxious at the offices of Payne Models. The hallways were literally lined with huge blown up posters of Zayn on just about the cover of every magazine in the world. Just think, that man's penis had been inside Harry less than twelve hours ago. He shuddered at the memory of it, but quashed it down. Like that was ever going to happen again.

 

His back did ache quite terribly though. He supposed the whole walking around in the cold middle of the night after losing his virginity was reason enough for it. A stiffness settled around his lower back, that ached and pulled with every step and even his slightest of movements. Harry had been so ashamed during his walk of shame. He wondered if people could tell he was walking with a slight limp or that he had been debauched by the man painted across the entire city. It all seemed so surreal. 

 

When Lou had first seen him she laughed. "What the hell happened to you last night? You look like total shit right now." 

 

Harry might have been shocked at her since they had only just met yesterday, but so much had changed in the past day this didn't faze him at all. He plopped into the make up chair with little enthusiasm.

 

"I think I'm hungover or something."

 

"Mhmmm. What did you expect? You drank so much. Should've warned you. Louis a dick, he always likes to fuck around with the new models. Sorry about that. So…when'd you even leave last night? Pretty early, yeah?"

 

"I don't even know," Harry lied as Lou began using some sort of alcohol based stringent to clean his face. It burned slightly as it went over a patch of particularly tender skin. Probably caused by Zayn’s stubble. He hissed.

 

He half listened as Lou berated him thoroughly for that one hickey that also had serious teeth mark that Zayn had given him, but she eventually helped him cover it up. It looked so natural Harry had trouble distinguishing it from his own skin. Lou also ranted about how his body was a canvas and he can't just let random people make art on it. Harry might have laughed the whole time.

 

Now she turned to his eyes. She ran her fingers lightly under them.

 

"Umm do you have trouble sleeping? Specifically last night? You got some serious bags. Like a lot more than you did yesterday."

 

"Yeah. Didn't sleep a wink." Harry also may have cried last night. Just a little bit. Okay, maybe a lot: Stresses of living alone. 

 

"Harry, do you want to talk? You look like you've got a lot on your mind. You can tell me." Lou said, starting to spread a layer of foundation on to Harry's face. The brush was soothing on his skin.

 

"It's not really anything, just a lot of stuff to contemplate really. Modeling and all. I haven't even told my mum about all this."

 

"Well it's hardly been 24 hours since ya even met Liam Payne. So I guess you got to take it in little by little. Enjoy this now, before you start to lose control. It’s a cracked up industry, innit?" Lou seemed to ask herself the last question more than Harry, a thoughtful expression on her face.

 

Harry thanked her for the advice, and told Lou he would try to heed it. But it was already crazy. Everything seemed a little bit beyond his control already.

 

...

 

"Hey! Hey mister!" A voice shook him out if his reverie. "Are you going to buy that or what? Don't just be standing there with your grubby fingers all over my magazines!" 

 

Harry looked down, he was holding the most recent issue of Nylon Guys with Zayn on the cover sporting a super hipster looking suit and glasses. A playful smirk was on his lips. He had light stubble and one thumb resting casually on the side of his chin. Holy shit. Harry might have to buy it.

 

"Hello? So what is it, you going to buy it?"

 

"Umm, no actually. No I'm not." Harry empowered by his self-control dropped the magazine back into the rack. He didn’t need that shit, not in his life at all.

 

"Fucking Brits," he hears the man says as he walks away.

 

That's right. How the hell did so many of them end up at Payne Models anyways. Why was Payne Models even headquartered in the US? Harry had million questions, most of which had to do with Zayn though. Why'd he decided to fuck Harry right after his girlfriend was there? Why did Harry let him? Why did Harry even go back with him in the first place? Was that Zayn's intention the whole time when he was being nice to him?

 

...

 

Harry's life was quickly transforming.  Though never quite as radically and as rapidly as it had that first day when he knocked Louis off his bike, for which he was grateful. The first ad of the campaign was to come out in a few weeks. Harry had gotten the opportunity to give some input on the final shots, but he honestly thought they all looked fairly similar. Perhaps he wasn’t the best judge for these matters.

 

Anticipation was rising since Simon had finally made the announcement to the public that a mystery model would be replacing Zayn as the face of it. Harry scoured online fashion fans and critics alike who both applauded and slandered Simon for his decision. Harry just hoped they wouldn’t be too critical once the big reveal occurred.

 

Now Harry wore better clothes, ate at expensive restaurants and had more admirers than he had even in first grade--when he was the hottest shit ever. It was all very surreal. Harry sometimes wondered if this was just a very strange, realistic and crazy dream.

 

Harry was in what he would now call model boot camp. On days when he wasn't shooting with Simon, he was expected to show up at Payne Models for essentially a how to in the modeling world. Liam thought it would be a great way for Harry to get to know the modeling world and his fellow Payne Models. 

 

To his amazement and everyone else’s, Harry had been able to put on five kilos of muscle with the help of his nutritionist and a personal trainer; Liam Payne's own one at that. He now had biceps he could be proud of, enough to not look like a total loser when wearing tanks, not that he did that much anywho.

 

Speaking of style, Caroline had definitely become his best ally. Caroline helped Harry develop a sense of style. No more polos, no more converse for Harry. She introduced Harry to the comfort and stylish ease of a good ankle boot. As well as jazzing any outfit up with understated but elegant accessories. Harry’s particular favorite were headscarves and his now growing collection of necklaces and bracelets.

 

The worst part of model boot camp however was the runway practice. He just was complete bollocks at it. Once Louis had told him he had the walk of a dodgy toddler. He had to agree. His walk was rubbish.

 

Liam didn't seem to mind though. He was more concerned with Harry's photos, for obvious reasons. As he put it, "Harry, as long as people think you're handsome and powerful, they won't be as concerned with your runway. They'll just be thinking of your picture in the campaign adverts."

 

...

 

Now Louis and Harry, the two finally began to warm up to one another after their rather frigid beginning. Louis was actually hilarious, if you could get past all the sass and attitude. Harry still didn’t trust him with his life per say, but he definitely thought it wise to keep on Louis’ good side. Interestingly enough, modeling wasn't his only gig. He also was a songwriter who wrote songs for that famous band Some Direction or whatever it was called.

 

Louis' face healed remarkably fast. Unfortunately for him, Simon didn’t want him for the campaign any longer, claiming that Harry and Louis were not right; there was something off about them together.  Harry didn’t mind. Louis was not exactly the warmest of creatures towards him. Louis had pretty much taken it upon himself to be a bit of an asshole to Harry. One day when Harry was in model boot camp, Louis plopped down next to him on the couch during a break.

 

"So Styles, tell me all about yourself," he said conversationally, flipping through the most recent issue of Nylon guys, the one with Zayn on the cover.

 

"What about?"

 

"I don't know. Whatever first comes to mind," Louis shrugged.

 

"I was a barista before this. I have one older sister. The brains of the family. Ermm, I'm not sure what else you want to know? I'd say I'm a fairly boring person," Harry shrugged, and slumped more into the couch—it was more comfortable than his bed in his miserable flat.

 

"Hmm, I don't mean to overstep, but a few of us are running a pool of sorts, and I mostly just really wanna know. Are you, I mean do you, you know, fancy blokes?"

 

"What? Wait, are you coming onto me?" Harry winked at him. Louis frowned, pursing his lips. He closed the magazine shut and flung it into Harry’s lap.

 

"I'm just messing with you. I like boys and girls," Harry supplied easily, "I like people who are nice. And yeah, doesn't matter whether they've got a penis or a vagina."

 

"Thank for that Harold. I totally win!" he cackled, a triumphant gleam in his eye.

 

"Also," Louis began smoothing out what little facial hair he sported on his upper lip, "I heard a rumor that, Zayn and Perrie got engaged! Thank god. Zayn was being such an ice bitch when they were on a break. Wait a tic, have you even met him? Damn, you haven't officially have you? He's been super busy, apparently. Never has time for old me anymore. Must be all the prenup business. Perrie's got a rich daddy and she's trying to be a singer or something."

 

Harry nodded slowly, hoping his pained expression wouldn't give away his discomfort with the situation. His insides felt like wood dipped in gasoline and promptly set on fire. Certainly much too hot for comfort. Well, it appeared like he had been a small blip on Zayn's radar, one last rebound before Zayn sealed the deal. He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed, angry even.

 

"You know what I'll do? I'll have Liam set up a meet and greet Zayn. You're going to have to work with him eventually I assume. Plus it's been a while, he'll totally be over the fact that you ripped his campaign out from under his feet," Louis said animatedly. He clearly was excited at the prospect of stirring up some drama at the agency. Louis seemed to like causing trouble.

 

"I'll go right now to ask Liam!" Louis sprung to his feet.

 

"Eh, you really don't have to. I'll meet him when I meet him," Harry made a weak attempt to deflect.

 

"Harold," he said placing one hand on each of Harry's shoulders, "You're my friend. And I assure you, meeting Zayn sooner than later will be good for everyone. He holds grudges like no one I've ever met. So why not start earlier so it can blow over faster?"

 

"To be honest, I don't think that logic makes that much sense."

 

"It does. You don’t worry at all. I have got this all completely under control. And Harold, have a kiss!" Louis smacked a big one on Harry's cheek. Clearly pleased with himself, he gave a short cackle and waltzed towards the door.

 

"Love you too Louis," Harry called after him as he heard Louis sprinting down the corridor. 

 

Harry wasn't sure whether or not Louis was looking out for him. He definitely seemed like a fickle character. Harry just prayed Zayn wouldn't be angry when he realized just who Harry was. He certainly hoped that Zayn didn't think Harry knew who Zayn was and still slept with him. It was pretty clear he didn't, right?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis is such a dick. lol.


	4. This is How It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets a not so nice pretty lady, asks questions and feels a little off kilter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need a beta. Any takers? haha

Harry was honestly really surprised that he had managed to avoid running into Zayn for so long. So long meaning a full week following Louis’ little initiative to arrange a meeting. And for that lovely week, Harry had yet to see Zayn in Payne Models office or at any of the shoots. Louis' ploy was not successful, for which Harry was thankful. That's why when he went into Liam's office one day he was surprised to see a beautiful woman, along with an animated blond man sitting at the desk. Liam was typically pretty organized, from what Harry could tell, so overscheduling himself was uncharacteristic. Per usual, Liam looked serious and dapper and a little pissed sitting behind his desk. 

 

"Harry, please have a seat." He gestured vaguely with one hand, before quickly returning his attention to the pair in front of him.

 

The woman had an unusually low voice and she sounded quite irritated, "I swear to god, Payne, you know I don't get out of bed for less than 20 grand. This asshat, Ben Winston, better be coughing up the cash."

 

"Look Liam," the blond man, who was apparently Irish interrupted, "Ben said that he'd be happy to pay whatever, as long as 'Veronica' behaves on set." 

 

"Okay, okay. So what I'm hearing is that you're being fucking difficult. You shut up. And Niall, you can tell Ben, he'll have his lovely lady back on set in fifteen."

 

“I cannot,” Veronica waved a hand. Harry noticed a small bird tattoo on it. He perked up and leaned a bit forward in his chair, stretching to get a better look at her. But a curtain of her long hair blocked his line of sight.

 

“Look, just finish this shoot today, please. I’ll handle Ben. So don’t you worry our pretty little head over this,” said Liam to Veronica.

 

Veronica seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. Then she sighed, “Whatever.”

 

“Okay then!” Niall slapped his hands loudly together. “Thank you, man. Ben will be glad to be getting back on schedule.”

 

“Ready?” he nodded to Veronica, touching her shoulder. She coarsely brushed him off and crossed her legs.

 

“Just tell Ben, wait a few. We still need to discuss something,” Liam instructed Niall.

 

Niall nodded. “We’re still on for beers later tonight, right, man?”

 

Liam glared at Niall, as if to say ‘not now you moron’. Niall got the idea, winked, and left the room. Liam folded his hands on his desk, he looked cross. His eyebrows were knitted together in consternation. There was this tic in his jaw that would jump every so often. He seemed to be in the midst of a staring match with the woman from what Harry could tell.

 

"Liam, this is absolutely ridiculous,” she folded her arms and slouched further into the chair.

 

"No, it's not. What's ridiculous is how much of a fucking diva you have been recently. Seriously, though. I don’t understand. Do you care at all? I just feel like you don’t," Liam spat out. He pulled at his tie to loosen the knot a bit. He looked away from the woman called Veronica and glanced over to where Harry was sitting.

 

"Ah, Harry, sorry about that. Why don’t you come sit closer to my desk." 

 

Harry awkwardly moved to sit in the seat Niall had been occupying. That's when he noticed how utterly and breathtakingly beautiful Veronica was. Her long brown hair curled gently at the bottom and fell just below her ample bosom. She was wearing a pencil skirt, Harry had learned some about fashion from Caroline after all. Paired with a pale powder blue blouse. Black rimmed glasses sat atop her very straight nose. Harry blushed a little when she glared at him.

 

"Pierre?" she laughed bitterly.

 

"Pardon?" Harry's stomach did a complete somersault. He must have heard wrong. He rubbed his ears as well.

 

"Don't you remember? You let me fuck you whilst you sobbed like a little girl," she laughed, a wicked grin upon her devastatingly beautiful face. It was a cruel sounding one. It ricocheted off the walls in Liam’s spacious office and cut Harry right to the bone.

 

Liam groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands. Harry felt like doing the same. But instead stared incredulously at Veronica, then at his feet when her icy glare became too intense. He adjusted one of his many rings, spinning it around on his finger with practiced ease. Perhaps it was a nervous tic.

 

"Harry meet Zayn. Though I guess you've already met. Zayn is doing a project focusing on androgyny with Ben Winston. Ben's a pretty popular photographer. Zayn will be on the cover of Italian Vogue next month,” Liam said from in between his palms. He sounded as stressed and horrified as Harry felt.

 

"So, you're this Harry I've heard so much about," Zayn said, adjusting his fake boobs rather violently. Harry decided he looked a lot less lady like when he had that snarl on his face. Harry didn’t know how to respond, opting to stare blankly at Zayn/Veronica.

 

"Well fuck you," Zayn spat out, flipping him the bird with one perfectly French manicured middle finger. Harry didn't want to think about where that finger had been, but he did. And he felt a familiar tightening feeling in his groin area. Come on, how could he possibly be turned on by this shit, Harry chastised himself.

 

"Too bad you already did," Harry scoffed. This day was just about to get shitty. 

 

"Oh you loved it. Don’t deny it. I know you did. You little job stealing fuck head."

 

"Zayn," Liam said in a warning tone. He was no longer hiding behind his hands any longer seeming to have regained some composure. Now he just looked angry.

 

"Don't you Zayn me, Liam. Where the hell did this little curly headed fuck even come from?"

 

"Hey! I consider this to be wavy, this ain't curly." Harry didn't know why he felt the need to defend his hair. He kept blurting out random things, whatever came to him really.

 

"Zayn...Harry. The two of you, please, just, just stop talking.” Liam slapped his hands palms down on hair desk. It made a satisfyingly loud banging noise. Liam was clearly more than a little bit frazzled.

 

"Look, Zayn I know you're pissed but you don't get to take it out on me or Harry. And Harry just chill. I've got news for both of you. And I thought, well now I’m not really sure. I thought you both would be pleased to hear this. So Simon is traveling right now, but he did ask me to ask you guys, or Zayn really, if you'd be interested at all at still being part of the campaign."

 

"Umm, hell no." Zayn snorted. "Don't work with amateurs. You know that Li. Plus I got that wedding to plan or some bullshit. Pez won't shut up about it."

 

"Zayn, be reasonable. He's offering 10 million for a month of work. I think you might consider it. The tour is only four weeks. Starts here then hitting up Milan, LA, Paris, London and Tokyo.  Just think, you can take care of all your other projects while you’re around in those places too. I know you hate to travel."

 

Harry didn't quite get how he was the star and getting paid less than Zayn, not that it mattered. He was getting more than enough. He was more concerned however about the impending horror that was his realization that he and Zayn (a very disgruntled one at that, who seemed to not like him much) may soon be spending a lot of time together in the very near future.

 

"Hmph."

 

"Plus since I won't be able to make if out the whole time, I think it'd be great for Harry to have a mentor on tour. Louis isn't going to be working for a while. I also don’t think he’d be the best influence for young Harry here. Come on Zayn."

 

Zayn looked thoughtful for a moment, a slight pout on his light pink glossed lips. Harry subconsciously licked his own lips. Then reprimanded himself for having such little will power. And also hoped his minimal lip makeup hadn’t been smudged by his saliva. Zayn was engaged and certainly never going to do anything with Harry now.

 

"Can we take the jet?" Zayn asked.

 

"The jet?" Harry said stupidly. He was ignored.

 

Liam looked thoughtful for a moment. "Fine. I'll get it from my dad. He's not using it anyways. The London office is in flux now anywho." 

 

 

...

 

Arrangements were made, contracts resigned. Zayn was now officially a part of the campaign much to his own chagrin and the relief of everyone else. Harry had  been surprised that Liam had so quickly been able to sway Zayn. He did have a certain charisma about him, he was very convincing. Harry couldn't believe he was only three years older than him. 

 

Liam had inherited the American branch of Payne Models just the year prior, but had really turned it around since then. As Harry quickly learned, Liam had been the one to 'discover' Zayn then with the help of Simon Zayn had become the hottest thing since sliced bread.

 

Apparently, the Zayn and Liam had been roommates in college. Liam was studying business management and photography and Zayn was a studio art and literature double major. Which Harry found extremely difficult to believe. Considering that Zayn seemed to lack the sensibilities of that, at least from the behavior Harry had witnessed. Anyways, Liam took a few photos of Zayn for a photo portfolio that Simon happened to come across by some odd chance, and wham, it turned out Liam's dad was a fashion tycoon, so it was all really in the cards.

 

Zayn, however, he was a bit of a wild card. According to much of the 'research’ Harry had done (an intense googling session that included the reading of multiple editorials focusing on him), Zayn was fairly well liked in most modeling circles. He did have a fucking gorgeous face, which always helped. But he was known for not taking direction terribly well. It seemed that people could look past all of Zayn’s volatility because, let’s face it, the man had a beautiful face.

 

 

...

 

It was finally Zayn and Harry's first photo-shoot together. Harry was really nervous. The kind of nervous that made his armpits sweat an awful lot and that morning he had woken up with a horrid spout of acne on his forehead. At least Lou was a master at cover up. After the meeting with Liam, Zayn had stomped away like an unhappy adolescent. Liam assured Harry that Zayn would come off it and come around eventually. Harry just hoped he wouldn't be that difficult to work with. Somehow, he felt like that was a slim chance. It was bad enough for Harry trying to figure out how to look good in photographs, let alone with another person and one who was as stunning as Zayn.

 

He fiddled with the vaguely baroque style cuff links on his suit sleeve. They were small darkish colored pearls. Harry couldn't really make sense of any of the wardrobe for the campaign. It seemed scattered and unfocused, but he didn't feel quite chummy enough with Simon to bother asking. Some of the clothing was completely otherworldly and seemed outdated—like the pirate-esque one from the first shoot. But then there were also a lot of angular, extremely modern pieces. Like the suit Harry currently had on, which had a sharp modern fit and look but had period details.

 

"Quit that," Caroline slapped at his hand. 

 

"C-wizzle? Can I call you C-wizzle?" 

 

Caroline snorted and rolled his eyes. "If I didn't have a pin in my hand right now and you didn't have a photoshoot in a few seconds, I'd slap you." 

 

"You love me." Caroline let out a long laugh at that.

 

Harry chuckled. "So, Caroline. Can I ask you something?" 

 

"You just did, sweetie." She tutted as she made a last minute adjustment on Harry's inseam. Harry giggled a little bit and she just made a little harrumph noise.

 

"What's Zayn like?"

 

"Humph, haven't you met him yourself?" 

 

"Yah, but...he wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming of people, I suppose one could say that, yeah."

 

"Zayn's one of the best people I know in this industry. I think it's hard to stay true to yourself here sometimes. He struggled with the attention a lot at first, but he's really passionate about what he does. He can't be that horrid if I made him my kid's godfather," Caroline said earnestly.

 

 

...

 

Harry, determined to form a new opinion of Zayn, walked onto the set. To his surprise, Zayn was already there, discussing something intently with Simon. Harry approached the pair with caution. As he edged his way closer he could feel the tension in the room increasing. It didn’t help that the entire room was awaiting on bated breath to see how this all would go down.

 

"Ahh, Harry! Great of you to join us," Simon nodded grimly. Zayn made a face, but refrained from talking.

 

"Hey Simon. Zayn." Harry nodded. 

 

Zayn looked breathtaking. Harry felt like he was being repeatedly kicked in the gut, that's how out of breath he was. A thin stripe of eyeliner was painted onto Zayn’s eyes making them even more electric than usual. His hair was artfully styled into the trademark quiff, and his stubble was tamed and orderly looking. Unlike Harry's more formal look, Zayn looked like some kind of angelic vision. He had on a near translucent shirt that was cinched near the waist by a large leather wraparound belt. It was reminiscent of Harry's first outfit. Through the shirt, Harry could see the faint outlines of tattoos, ones that he may or may not have touched his lips to before. He shuddered thinking about it. He couldn't afford to get any spontaneous hard ons right now, it would be painful obviously in his tightly cut trousers. 

 

"Well, let's get going, shall we?" Simon clapped his hands twice and the whole studio began getting in position.

 

Unlike the past few shoots, the set was completely bare, save for a clear plexiglass bench at the center. 

 

"So, let's start out with Zayn sitting."

 

Zayn diligently arranged himself on the bench. Harry followed him onto the set. He sort awkwardly stood behind Zayn, and the bench. Not knowing how to arrange his arms, he sort of crossed them.

 

"Harry, you're good right there." 

 

Harry swallowed and steeled his jaw. He focused in on the little black lens and anticipated the flash, trying not to blink. It was hard to become accustomed to. His eyes often burned bright orange and hues of pink after the shoots.

 

Zayn had no trouble at all it seemed. Harry wondered if he was even breathing, he was so still. Every so often, Zayn would make these micro adjustments, changing his pose ever so slightly. Harry watched through the corner of his eye. It was unnerving. He was like a walking advertisement. And Harry honestly thought he would buy anything if Zayn’s face happened to be endorsing the particular product.

 

"Zayn, that is perfect. Stay there. Harry bring your right arm out. That's it. Don't shorten that leg. It's still in the shot. Better."

 

Harry tried to adjust his limbs accordingly. This he found to be difficult. Artfully arranging his form to look beautiful and purposeful yet somehow natural at the same time. Zayn looked so effortless with everything that he did, every position, every flawless facial expression. Harry wasn't surprised though. Zayn gave off the air of being an extremely precise person.

 

"Okay, that's a wrap. Nice work everyone."

 

 

...

 

Zayn had not spoken a single word to Harry since the day in Liam's office. Harry tried to make conversation after the shoot had wrapped, but Zayn was taciturn and silent. More so than ever. 

 

Harry felt more than a little distressed, truthfully. Zayn was to be in close proximity for the whole of the next month and possibly for the next year or even more, since they worked at the same agency and all. Harry was not good at making do with silence. It made him feel small, like he didn’t exist even. Maybe it didn't really matter, but Harry always wanted people to like him, love him even. Especially people that Harry had slept with. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes, what ever shall our young Harold do?


	5. This is Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sleeps a lot and sometimes some things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully it's not too bad lol

Harry was in an absolute tizzy. He paced round his flat frenetically, nearly pulled a few curls out in the process. Though these days, they were honestly less curl and more wave. Harry was not too keen on the change, but his tight curls from yonder yore were not terribly appreciated by Simon. Nor Caroline Watson. They both said it made him seem more cherubic, too young was really what they meant to say.

 

The reason for Harry’s melodramatic meltdown: he had no idea how or what to pack for a world tour. He figured Caroline would cover for most of his stuff. Right? But still, he needed some of his own things? Liam was away on business so he wasn't readily available. Zayn obviously was not going to be of any help. Louis would probably give him the worst advice and that guy Niall who turned out to be the head of PR at Payne Models, well Harry didn't know him well enough to contact him, though he seemed friendly enough.

 

Ultimately, he found that his googling of “what should I pack for a world tour” was not particularly successful. After moping around in his dingy flat ineffectively for roughly a half hour or so, Harry looked at the time. His flight was apparently much sooner than he had originally thought. Or maybe Harry’s biological clock was just awful and not in tune one bit with reality. Frantically, he scrambled around looking for his plane tickets first of all, which he didn’t even need, technically, private jet and all. Cursing his stupidity and waste of a few minutes he nearly banged his forehead into the drawers that were on top of his bed. And then remembering he probably should take at least one bag with a few pairs of pants and some clothing, he scoured the apartment for clean anything really.

 

He ended up gathering a bunch of decently acceptable and hopefully recently laundered clothing and stuffed it all into an overnight suitcase. It definitely was not enough. He was expecting to be paid in clothing though, cause that’s what models get. Free clothes. His flight to LA was in less than a few hours now. They were flying out of JFK, the private jet was there. God. He just hoped it wouldn't be too awkward on that tiny plane with Zayn. 

 

 

…

 

The first show was to be in LA. Then from there their motley little caravan of models, Simon, Caroline and Lou, Harry and of course his royal highness Zayn were shipping out to Tokyo, London, Paris, Milan and the big finale type show was in New York. Harry hadn't been back to England for a while. His mum had been in tears when he told her he'd be back for a bit at the end of the month. She also cried lots more once he finally spilled the beans on the whole modeling thing. He had been hesitant to say anything just because it was all too fast. However he figured it best she hear it from him, rather than see her son's face plastered on some billboard somewhere.

 

The conversation had gone something like this:

 

“Mom, I have to tell you something, but you have to promise me, you won’t freak out too much, yeah?”

 

“Mhmm. You should call more often. Sweetie, what is it now?”

 

“Are you knitting right now?”

 

“Is that really all you had to say, Harry dear? If you must know, I am. A scarf for you in those cold New York winters.”

 

“Erm, about that actually…I won’t actually be in New York until well, back around January now, I suppose.”

 

“What, now? Coming home so soon? I was afraid that might happen! What happened? You should have told me earlier, I could have helped you.”

 

“Well mom, believe it or not, I got a job! I’m a model.”

 

“You’re kidding right?”

 

“No, no I’m a model. And I have a campaign. And we’re actually, we’re going to be touring internationally.”

 

“…”

 

“Mom? Are you alright? Are you crying? Please don’t cry…”

 

“H—harry”

 

“Mom, don’t be upset, please…”

 

“Oh Harry. It’s just that, I only let you go because I thought you would come back. I just wanted you to get your head sorted out and go to university or something. I feel like a right idiot now. You’re my little baby, you know. It’s just so, I’m just very, I’m glad, glad you found something you like.”

 

 

...

 

Zayn greeted Harry with a curt head nod, when Harry rushed onto the jet, out of breath and sweating profusely. Good thing he was only wearing a t-shirt. Somehow, Harry had managed to get held up at security for a bit. Harry was sure it was his stupidly greasy hair, which he had slung into a pony at the top of his head. Setting off alarms everywhere. Lou complained about it on the daily. But Harry liked his hair at that length. Even if it meant looking like complete shit when Lou wasn’t around to style it

 

Zayn had headphones on, covering his ears already. Head bobbing slightly to the beat of his music. He was tensely sitting in one of the plush looking cream-colored chairs. The window covering was drawn shut next to him. Harry stowed his bag and sat on the opposite side of the plane.

 

"Hey guys. This is Dan, I’ll be your captain today. Now that everyone's here, we're going to push back in a few, and you'll be on your way to LA. The flight should take approximately five hours and forty five minutes. The weather is looking pretty good so, it should be a smooth flight. Just sit back and relax guys," a voice said over the intercom. 

 

Harry smiled to himself and squished himself further back into the comfortable plush of the seat. It enveloped him comfortably. He had never been to LA before. He was seriously craving some warm weather though. New York fall was a little nippier than he would have thought.

 

He was exceedingly nervous for the catwalk however. Harry felt rather like a gangly baby duck, flopping around and falling on his face quite often. Luckily, he had yet to do that in practice but with his luck and clumsiness he could easily imaging that happening. He hoped Zayn would warm up to him and maybe give him a few tips, anything really. That seemed like a lost cause though.

 

Speaking of Zayn, Harry snuck a peak over at the other model when the jet pushed back and began to taxi. He looked really upset, his hands were tightly gripping the arm rests, knuckles white, eyes snapped shut. His brow was knitted together, jaw tight from clenching his teeth from the looks of it. Harry didn't want to bother him though, so he got out his journal and wrote some. He had hardly had time in the last month to breathe, let alone keep a log of his life. Now he would happily and at long last put some thoughts to the page. 

 

…

 

Harry was roused by a dull prodding sensation on his forehead. Zayn’s face, blurred came swimming into his vision. It was he who tapped him several times in the center of his forehead while wearing a wearied expression on his chiseled features. Harry blinked the bleariness from his eyes and wiped away the accumulated spittle from the corner of his mouth. Zayn frowned a little bit, and stepped back from Harry’s personal space.

 

"We’ve just landed," said Zayn. He looked a little pale. His hair covered by a beanie, headphones slung around his neck. Quite a bit of stubble coming in on his cheeks. His clothing was rumpled and he had some serious bags, dark purpling blue bruises under his eyes.

 

Harry nodded slowly, and stuffed his belongings back into his bag. He had barely gotten any writing done. He guessed he must have been pretty tired to have slept the whole way there.

 

He looked up, and Zayn had already exited the plane. How was Harry ever going to keep up?

 

 

...

 

"Boys, it is so good to see you both. I trust your flight went without a hitch." Simon greeted them with a grim smile at the hotel after they had been shipped there from the airport. Talk about a horrible limo ride. Harry attempted to make conversation out of his nervousness for the proceeding days, and Zayn pretended to sleep. Or maybe he actually was. One thing for certain was that Zayn was a great pretender, thought Harry.

 

"Yup, it was fine," Harry said. Stretching out the kinks in his neck. There were more than a few. They made a delightful popping and cracking noise as he did so.

 

"That’s what I like to hear. How about we get freshened up, change into something a bit nice, because we have dinner with a very special person, Harry I'm sure you'll be thrilled to meet her. She certainly can't wait to meet you. Well actually, dinner with a quite a few special people…"

 

Zayn and Harry simultaneously nodded. Simon gave them their hotel keys, separate rooms of course. Suites even. Harry could hardly fathom an entire suite to himself. How terribly lonely. 

 

Harry came quite close to crying when he got to his suite. It was probably about five times the size of his flat in New York. He still had yet to figure out moving out and such. Eventually he knew he would. But he just felt so lost and tired when he wasn't working. He collapsed into the plush of the gratuitously enormous bed face first. He would take a power nap before the meeting.

 

 

...

 

Harry heard a knock or two on the hotel room door. He was surprised as the clock only read five thirty, still some time before the dinner. He ambled slowly over to answer it. It was Zayn but it wasn't, it was Veronica. She had her black rimmed glasses low on the brow of her nose. Looking down at him nearly. Which made little sense since Harry was taller than her even in her heels. 

 

"Um..." was all Harry could muster. Her pink lips pulled back slighlty to reveal a shy smile.

 

"Can I come in?" Veronica asked after a beat.

 

Harry didn’t respond, but she stepped in anyways. Grabbing the lapels of Harry's sleep rumpled jumper.  She stepped closely into Harry’s space. Harry could feel her breath ghosting over the column of his neck. Harry nearly fell over, stumbling backwards, but Veronica instead placed her hands square on Harry's chest and pushed him back-first onto the bed. He landed on the flat of his back, a small ‘oof’ escaping his lips as he bounced lightly; it was a cushy bed. 

 

"I thought we might have some fun, you know, before that boring dinner party," she said her voice dropping to a low whisper. Harry blinked twice. Was he dreaming? He must have been. Then, she brandished a thin, silk scarf out of nowhere and used it to tie one of Harry's wrists to the bedframe. Harry gulped, she fastened his other wrists as well. 

 

"Wait, what are you doing?" Harry squeaked, as she divested him of his clothes, cutting his jumper and the shirt he had on underneath off his body with a pair of scissors. She then made work of Harry’s trousers with surprising ease. Where had she even gotten those from?

 

"Harry, oh Harry who said you were allowed to talk?" She smirked, a glint in her eyes.

 

She took a portion of his cut up shirt and balled it, then placed it into Harry's mouth. Harry struggled slightly against his bonds. This was getting a little bit out of hand.

  
Harry watched as she slinked leisurely off the bed, taking care to give Harry an excellent view of her backside.

 

"I think we both know why I'm here, Mr. Styles," Veronica intoned, fiddling with the buttons of her blouse.

 

With practiced hands, Veronica removed her blouse and skirt teasingly, and painfully slowly. She finally revealed a black leather corset, and that it was still all Zayn. Tattoos visible, dark brown nipples peeping out the top of the corset. Zayn then put on a pair of elbow length black leather gloves. Snapping them on tightly for effect. It was working since Harry had never been more turned on in his life. Zayn seemed to have that effect on him.

 

Zayn smiled, and brushed a strand of the wig from his eyes. He circled around the hotel bed like some kind of predatory cat. Teeth not bared, but the sly smile playing upon his lips. Then he crawled slowly onto the bed, towards Harry. Finally, he settled his weight onto Harry’s lower legs, straddling him, heels still on. With his gloved index finger, Zayn traced a line down Harry's body, starting from his neck all the way down to his nether region. Harry let out a pitiful whimper as Zayn made sure to avoid Harry's cock of course, which was staining hard against the fabric of his pants. To Harry's utmost dismay, Zayn had not been so kind as to have cut them off earlier.

 

"You like that, huh?" Zayn asked as Harry's hips bucked upwards involuntarily. Of course he did, not that Harry could respond since he was currently gagged.

 

Zayn leaned over Harry, his breath ghosting over Harry's straining and very much still clothed erection. He placed a chaste kiss on each of Harry's hipbones. Then with a wicked grin, he bit down on the inside juncture of Harry's thigh. Harry cried out and shook all over. Zayn however had pinned his hips firmly down to the bed. 

 

_Thunk._

 

Ouch, Harry had spasmed a little too hard, causing him to smack his head hard into the headboard. It made a dull thudding noise. But somehow the noise continued. Harry struggled against his bonds as Zayn proceeded with his ministrations. Harry groaned loudly, but he wasn’t sure if it was the pain in his head, or the feel of Zayn finally having mercy on him and divesting him of his pants.

_Thunk_.

 

He smashed his head again. Then he blinked his eyes open, they had been screwed shut in pain. Alas no one was there. There was no wicked Zayn in a corset straddling him, no one in the room at all. But there was a dampening make that wet, now cooling sensation in his trousers. How juvenile, Harry had had his first wet dream in something like 4 years.

 

He also somehow had managed to completely tangle himself in his sheets. The comforter wrapped awkwardly around his torso and pillows strewn across the bed and even on the floor. After some disentangling he managed to make it out of his bed. He walked to the door, opening it a crack, his pants were still in an unpresentable condition.

 

"Hello?" Harry asked. To his disbelief and utter mortification, it was Zayn, but he certainly was not wearing a leather corset, nor a wig nor high heels. He did however look perfectly manicured head to toe, despite looking like shit coming off the plane. He was wearing a sharp black leather jacket, and dark jeans. Harry felt slightly manic, his heart lept into his throat and stayed there beating hard. 

 

"You didn't make it down, everyone's waiting for you," Zayn said with a shrug.

 

"Oh, right, of course. Oh shit, what time even is it? How could I forget-- I was sleeping, right. Thanks." Harry fumbled over his words.

 

"Right then, you'll want to change I reckon," Zayn gave Harry a once over. He wrinkled his nose a bit, and Harry swore he heard him sniff.

 

"Err, yeah, yeah. I'll go do that." Harry retreated, shrinking a bit into himself and pulling the duvet tighter around himself.

 

"Be quick. I'll wait for you right here," Zayn said stiffly. Harry surprised mumbled a quick thanks before closing the door quickly, afraid Zayn would see the persistent blush on his face, or worse the wet spot caused by the cooling come in his pants.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is turning into a crack fic in my mind. oops.


	6. This is the City of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry walks the walk, but fails to talk the talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post.... Enjoy!

"Hi, I'm Alexa, it is so great to finally meet you!"

 

 A woman wearing a dress with a plunging back introduced herself, smiling as she shook Harry's hand. Her bob was nearly shoulder length. She was absolutely stunning. A wide smile, beautiful eyes and artfully chosen accessories. She carried herself with grace and ease, straight backed with excellent posture. Harry felt a little sheepish in comparison with his slight hunch and poor stance.

 

"Hey, so good to meet you as well. I'm Harry." Harry smiled, giving her hand a quick squeeze. 

 

"Simon has just shown me some of your negatives. You photograph wonderfully. And you're not to shabby on the eyes now either," she glowed, "Can't wait to see you walk tomorrow!"

 

"Haha, I'm not sure how good I'll be." 

 

"You'll be just great. I'm sure of it. Simon is never wrong. Believe me. He sees what other people don’t see. "

 

"Well I hope not..." Harry trailed off.

 

"Don't you worry your pretty little self at all. You're probably a natural by the look of it. I am positive that you will do well brilliant. Oh yes, look, oh it's Zayn! Zayn," Alexa waved Zayn over.

 

"Hullo Alexa," Zayn swooped in and pecked her on the cheek. Harry quashed down the flare of jealousy in his stomach as Alexa snuggled into his side a bit. They seemed rather familiar.

 

The pair began talking about something modeling or other and Harry drifted off looking for some kind of refreshment. He soon found out Alexa was the editor of British Vogue, so her being so friendly with Zayn made sense, as Zayn was the most popular British male model of the time. 

 

As Harry wandered around the party, glimpsing at the often gaudily dressed men and women, he supposed he could be into this scene one day, even like it, if he knew more people. 

 

...

 

Harry stood on some beaten old wooden box as a Caroline did a quick job of letting out the hemming on the pair of pants he was currently wearing. He would have twiddled his thumbs out of sheer boredom, if it weren't of the three other designers, nipping and tucking at the other parts of his runway attire. The line had originally been cut for Louis, which was slightly problematic because Louis was clearly quite a bit shorter than Harry. Luckily, the original cuts were still made with enough fabric allowance that a whole new line did not have to be produced. Thankfully, though Louis was shorter, he was also much stockier, at least that’s what Caroline hemmed and hawed on and on about. The clothes fit Harry completely differently. No matter, Caroline was altering as they went along. About which she bitterly complained, often cursing Harry for his height. 

 

He sucked a deep breath in trying expand his lungs to the utmost capacity. As if more air would save him. He was kind of nervous. A jittery sort of feeling rolling low and unfurling deep within his stomach. His skin felt too tight, as if it had been pulled taut and pinned by his ears. His heart thudded in his chest, a dull pulse that he could nearly hear. The blood pumping, nearly causing his head to throb incessantly. Harry shook his head side to side like some sort of rabies infected animal. It didn’t help.

 

His face felt stiff to touch as if it was made from plastic or some sort of resin. He lightly ran his hands over the edges of his hairline, a nervous tic really. Runway makeup was apparently heavier than most of their photo shoots. Harry attributed this to the use of Photoshop and the fact that he would probably look washed out under the intense catwalk lighting.

 

He was fifth in the walk order, right after Zayn. There were also several female models who walked before him. 

 

Zayn as usual had been silent around Harry. But at least he now acknowledged his existence. Short head nods and one words answers were better than total silence on Zayn's part. 

 

Zayn looked crazy good. Harry never thought that eyeliner worked on guys before he met Zayn. Well, he actually knew very little about eye liner period pre-modeling days. 

 

Zayn was all ready to go, hair and outfit perfection. He currently was leaning against a counter, nose in a book. Harry strained to get a glimpse of its cover, but to no avail. Caroline slapped at his leg to get him to quit wiggling about. 

 

Finally, it was almost time. A few of the female models had returned to change into their second outfits. Harry stood behind Zayn nervously. His anticipation was rising settling as a hard lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow. He had always had a awkward pigeon toed sort of walk. They had worked hard to correct it and widen his stance but he felt unstable. He stared hard at the back of Zayn's neck. The top of bird's tail peeked out from the collar of his shirt. 

 

"You're going to be fine, you know that?" Zayn turned around to say. He smiled, a small one, barely perceptible, but it was still there. He gave Harry a quick squeeze on the shoulder and then it was Zayn's turn to walk.

 

Harry may have gaped, unattractively at that. This was the closest thing to niceness that had come from Zayn recently. Somehow the gesture eased his nerves though, if only just a little bit. He took in a deep breath. 

 

Now, it was his turn. The stage manager signaled him to start walking, and he did.

 

...

 

At the end of the show, Simon brought Harry out, and showed him off, sort of. Harry was made to stand beside Simon at the end of the runway and loads of photos were taken. Simon raised his one arm and they took a gratuitous amount of bows. There was a steady murmur in the crowd. The constant sound of shutters snapping and the bright flashes of white light. Harry tried not to blink as much as possible, alas to no avail. By the time they were finished, Harry could hardly see. When he closed his eyes he was greeted by the reddish pink glow of his inner eyelids. Spots of bright yellow, fading into ambers and reddish hues.

 

Harry had never felt so happy and invigorated before. His heart thudding nearly out of his chest as adrenaline coursed happily in his veins, and a smile blazed across his face. He had waved and posed for those photographs a smile stretched wide across his face until his jaw ached from smiling and his skin felt tired. 

 

"Nice job Harry. Not half as bad as I imagined," Simon ribbed once they were heading off the walk, "We're lucky you have such a great looking face too." He rubbed a large hand on Harry’s banked and gave a rare smile.

 

Harry nodded, soaking in all the energy in. He felt light and a little giddy. A spring in his step, one that hadn't faltered at all on the runway. A wave of people surrounded Harry as soon as he stepped off the catwalk.

 

"Harry you were wonderful! Excellent first time. Not too stiff, not too loose, really bravo!" Alexa rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

 

"Thank you! Thanks. Yeah I totally loved it." Harry squeezed her back tightly. 

 

Several others came and congratulated Harry on the show and also his campaign. He got a few flirtatious looks from some of the female models as well. It was overwhelming, but quite lovely. Harry was distracted though, looking for Zayn, who was nowhere to be found. 

 

Harry said some goodbyes to faces he would surely not see again nor remember and made his exit. They didn't have to be at the after party/ reception for some time. He escaped to his dressing room and had Caroline extract him from his attire. Quickly, he slipped into a pair of jeans and a loose white t-shirt.

 

He made his way down one of the halls and went out through one of the emergency exits. It lead into an alley. A dirty smelly one at that. The sun was setting, an orangey pink haze settling over Los Angeles. It was still warm, comfortably so. There was a light breeze. It tickled the hair on his forehead and cooled the sweat on his brow. He stuck his arms out to the sides, airing out his armpits. Cooling down considerably. Harry just needed a breath. Take some time to let it all soak in. Plus the added bonus of finding Zayn.

 

His hunch was accurate because Zayn was leaning against the wall, smoking. Looking as cool and unaffected as he always did. He too had changed into regular clothing. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, and black combat boots. 

 

"Hey," Harry said. The word clung to the air and turned stale nearly, before Zayn even noticed his presence. It was all too remniscent of their first meeting.

 

"What are you doing out here? We have got to stop meeting in alleys," Harry continued, adding the second statement weakly.

 

Zayn took a slow, long drag of his cigarette. Barely sparing Harry a glance. His dark eyebrows knitted together, as he blew smoke out into the small space between them. Harry coughed lightly as the nicotine shocked into his lungs.

 

"I could ask you the same." He flicked some ashes away onto the ground. They fell lightly into a rancid looking puddle.

 

"I dunno. I just wanted, I wanted to say thank you for earlier." 

 

"It's nothing." Zayn shrugged. 

 

"It meant a lot to me. Also I kind of wanted to maybe ask you about..." Harry trailed off. How to put it. 

 

"What I wanted to say was, that I wanted to make sure you knew, I didn't know it was you that night." 

 

"I realized that," Zayn said, crunching the stub of his cigarette under his heel. Harry watched as his heel lifted to revealed the crushed cigarette. Now a mush of gray paper and the obliterated tawny, brown insides, ingrained into the uneven asphalt in the alley way.

 

"You see, it's just that I..." Harry wasn't sure why he was even bringing it up. But ever since his little dream, he felt completely on edge around Zayn. Harry had always been a talker, he liked to work through his problems verbally. It seemed like Zayn wanted nothing to do with him though. Zayn’s attention was mostly on his own fingernails, he was pretty intensely scrutinizing his nail beds.

 

"It's fine. You seem like a pretty straight laced guy. You don't need to feel bad about it or anything. Perrie and I were on a break then anyways." Zayn supplied the answer with ease, his hand coming up to running a hand through his now relaxing hair. As if that what was what had been bothering Harry. 

 

"Err, right." Harry had hardly even remembered that Zayn was engaged. It felt like a swift kick to the gut.

 

"Well we better head inside, yeah?" Zayn shrugged his jacket, adjusting it slightly as he leaned off the wall. He breezed coolly by Harry. Harry felt a slight chill when Zayn passed by, the door back inside slamming with a decidedly loud slam.

...

Harry surveyed the scene. The reception was filling up fairly quickly. Hundreds of people dressed to the nines, milling about and socializing. Harry adjusted the collar of his black tuxedo shirt. He was a little warm, the jacket he had on must have been made from wool or something. The event was black tie. Harry had a hard time dealing with how put together everyone was. It seemed fake. All the people laughing, and sipping at glasses of champagne.

 

That's when he saw a tall brunette approaching him with Simon. She was dangerously skinny, Harry thought, dressed in a red, floor length flowy sort of gown. It had a teardrop cut out over her minimal cleavage and some adornment on the shoulders. The skirt of the gown moved in an entrancing dance as she floated towards him. Her long skinny arms swaying at her sides. She looked young.

 

"Harry, this is Kendall Jenner." Simon said, he seemed to thrust her forwards

 

"Hello," Harry nodded his head, hands behind his back. Kendall brushed a lock of her long brown hair out of her face and smiled coyly at him. The smile reached her warm, doe like eyes. 

 

"Nice to meet you," she held her out for Harry to take. Harry did and shook it. Her hand felt warm and delicate even, a pleasant weight in his own.

 

"The pleasure is all mine." He brought Kendall's hand up to brush against his lip. She let out a bubbly giggle, then cleared her throat as if to pretend she was more mature than that. 

 

She seemed nice enough. Harry let her link her long arm in his. And they set off to meet even more people. Kendall knew many of the guests that evening. She glided through the crowds and answered inquiries that sprung from people’s mouths with grace, ease and a tinkling laugh. Harry felt rather like man candy, off her arm smiling and being introduced to more socialites.

 

This is what Harry needed to get Zayn out of his head. 

 

...

 

When Harry woke up in his hotel room, the red numbers of the alarm clock read 4:37 am. He rubbed his eyes, urging the crust out onto the edge of his hands. He head felt heavy in his hands, swollen even. He lolled it side to side, stretching out a few kinks in his neck, which popped and strained in protest to his movements as if begging for more rest and rejuvenation.

 

Dawn's pale tendrils of light creeped through the partially open shades. Harry felt sore and awful. His head ached and throbbed once he shifted positions. He promptly collapsed back into the bed. He rolled over and collided with a warm body. 

 

It was Zayn and he was naked. The curve of his neck, extending to his clavicle and half of his right pectoral exposed. The ambient lighting from the window, cast strange shadows on Zayn’s sleeve on his right arm, which rested atop his ribcage. His hand gently caressing the space where his heart might be under the covers and a few layers of skin and tissue. Harry noticed then that he was naked too. He rubbed his eyes a second time.  Zayn was still there. Harry pinched himself. Zayn was snoring softly, breaths coming out as little puffs against his pillow. Harry thought his eyelashes looked even longer than normal. They cast small shadows onto the planes of his cheeks.

 

Harry poked gently at the other model's cheek to make sure it was actually Zayn and not just another strange hallucination he had managed to conjure up. Zayn's cheek felt quite solid under the pads of his fingers. Harry was desperately trying to remember what had happened last night. He racked his brain, but alas nothing came up. A cloudy haze. The last thing he remembered was speaking with Kendall.

 

Thinking the better of it Harry decided it best that he go back to sleep. His eyes felt heavy and his brain ached anyways. A few hours later he awoke to an empty bed. No sign or traces that anyone had even been there.

 ...

 

The plane ride to Tokyo from LA was about twelve hours according to google maps. They wouldn't be taking the private jet there much to Harry's happiness. Too much time in close proximity with Zayn would very easily make Harry crazy. He could hardly stand that Zayn now seemed to refuse to look at him. And if he did it was a look of pure disgust.

 

He got a gruff hi every now and again, but for the most part Harry found himself at a lost. Harry was in agony. He desolately wanted to know what had happened that night. It was driving him up the proverbial wall that Zayn was being so withholding. 

 

Harry slept like a baby in the way to Tokyo. It might have been because he popped a few more than the recommended dose of Ambien before take off. Regardless he was safe from any scandalous dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be updated a little less frequently. School starting up and all. Plus I haven't written past ch. 10, getting a little road block.


	7. This is the City of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays in milk and more fun things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on schedule! Yay! :)

Harry felt overwhelmed as soon as they stepped out of the plane and into the terminal at the Narita airport in Tokyo. The air was thick with something intangible, it assaulted him as he walked through the passageway towards customs. Something was abuzz, a ringing sort of humming sparked and fizzled in the air. There were hundreds of girls and some boys waiting behind a barricade and a few members of the airport security detail. They were all screaming Zayn's name. Along with holding up a plethora of colorful and highly imaginative signs.

 

Zayn looked unfazed. He calmly signed autographs and took some pictures with a few lucky fans. Harry was shocked that there was even a small contingent of fans calling his name. Harry happily greeted them with a huge smile and laughed at one of posters, it had his head superimposed onto Harry Potter's body, claiming him to be 'magical'.

 

"Do you ever get used to it?" he ventured to ask Zayn as they were ushered by their security detail into a car.  Harry tracked Zayn's Adam's apple as it moved up and down. 

 

"No, no not really." Zayn leaned his head back, defeated and exhausted against the headrest. He closed his eyes, casting a shadow onto his cheekbones.

 

Harry thought he might be able to though. 

 

...

 

Harry was completely astounded by the sights, the smells and the amount of people everywhere. All of Tokyo, really. The skyscrapers, the rush hour traffic and pedestrian traffic patterns. Harry was more than a little bit overwhelmed by it all. Everywhere they went Zayn had a following. Harry didn't even know models could be that popular. Neither he nor his older sister Gemma knew a spot about fashion growing up. They just wore the clothes their mum had bought them. But he supposed he did never really hang out terribly much with Zayn on a non-professional front.

 

Everywhere they went they seemed to be mobbed by large masses of girls. Zayn seemed entirely used to it. Stone face and sifting expertly through the bodies as if it was nothing. It was suffocating, having all these people grabbing at his clothes. Wanting a piece. Exhilarating, but also frightening. What if someone accidentally got hurt in the stampede? What if he accidentally hurt someone? And he wondered, a lingering sort of thought in the back of his mind, were there people that might want to hurt him or Zayn.

 

The Japan fashion show was out of this world. The few other models that walked—the guests, Harry supposed—wore the most incredible and bizarre clothing (though Harry wasn’t sure it even qualified as that). Extremely, high fashion was what it seemed like to Harry. The runway show to his pleasure went without a hitch. Harry thought it was even better than the LA show. Mostly because his nerves were considerably lessened. Before walking, he took a few nervous breaths, and swallowed hard, then took to the walk. 

 

After the show, Harry and Zayn smoozed with some Japanese fashion tycoons and Mitsuko Watanabe, the editor of Vogue Japan. Mitsuko had arranged for Harry and Zayn come to the Vogue offices for a tour. Harry even managed picked up a few Japanese words on the way there, which seemed to cause Zayn to scowl darkly. Not to mention be even more despondent than usual.

 

Now Harry and Zayn were making an appearance at an exclusive club in the Harakuju district. Simon had suggested it, so it was basically required. After their little trip around the Vogue offices—which Harry found both amazing and freaky. The office was so pristine and clean and the workers were so uptight. Harry could not imagine actually working at such a tidy place.

 

Zayn was dressed to the nines, but Harry had opted for a more simple ensemble. A white tee and tight black jeans was his go to. Zayn looked amazing, then again when did he not? He had a form fitting black button down and black trousers. And a really sharp pair of doc martens that had a plaid detail. Harry felt a little jealous at the ease with which Zayn carried himself and dressed himself. Hopefully, this would come with time…

 

They arrived at the club around peak hour and bypassed all the pissed off looking people queued up around the corner. The club was hot, and sweaty. The air felt thick, almost like running into a brick wall as Harry and Zayn pushed their way inside. The music a dull pulse that vibrated through Harry's body. Neon seemed to be the theme, there were a plethora of strobe lights and all the club goers wore the brightest clothing Harry had ever seen. It didn't help that there was blacklight lighting throughout the entire dance floor and bar. 

 

Zayn disappeared into the mass of gyrating bodies as soon as they entered, trailing towards some sketchy looking back room. Harry ambled his way towards the bar. He ordered a drink, well tried to. With the volume of the music and the bartender's minimal English, Harry just ended up pointing at something someone else had ordered. Some toxic looking green drink with a salted rim and a mint leaf as a garnish. It burned when it slid down his throat. He nearly coughed it back up, along with his left lung.

 

Harry was debating leaving. He wrung his hands together, not relishing the squickish feel of his sweaty palms. The club was decidedly humid, too much so for Harry's taste. He was exhausted and not that into the synth techno music they repeatedly played. All the music sounded the same. And it caused his head to pound rather irritatingly. 

 

Her surveyed the club. It was packed. With mostly women, small scantily clad, and some wearing quite strange headpieces. Harry felt completely out of place, and certainly underdressed. The male clientele were all wearing jackets, or tuxedos god forbid. Which seemed nonsensical and quite disgusting—the club was so humid, one would definitely ruin the outfit. Lost in thought, he opted to staring at the swirling lights, until his eyes felt like they were going to cross and just maybe fall out.

 

He had his back leaned against the bar, nursing his foul drink, when Zayn stumbled back towards him. His hair was mussed up and he looked a little sweaty. His skin glistened in the technicolor lighting, changing colors as the light flashed on the planes of his face while he approached.  His pupils were dilated and he actually collided with Harry, who let out a small oof as the other man’s full torso came into contact with his. Zayn’s face broke into a leery smile and then in addition to the ample contact from their torsos, he began dragging his hands up and down Harry's chest. 

 

Leaning forward, Zayn's hot breath tickled Harry's neck and the skin behind his ear. A shiver traveled down Harry's spine, his hair standing up at the ends. He felt the smooth, slightly chapped skin of Zayn's lips and the scrape of the beginnings of stubble against the shell of his ear. Harry was frozen, rooted in place. 

 

"Hey Pierre," Zayn murmured, slurred really, his words sticking together, getting lost and clinging to the hair by Harry’s ear, "let's get out of here." 

 

Harry pinched himself. He had to be dreaming. But he knew he wasn't when Zayn's very real very solid hand, made it's way forward and palmed Harry's crotch. Harry almost jumped out of his boots at the contact. Not to mention the fact that Zayn seemed to be sporting a semi in his jeans, which he was currently rubbing despairingly and desperately against Harry's leg.

 

"Okay." Harry gulped before he could think of a better answer.

 

...

 

By the time they got into the elevator in the hotel, Zayn had nearly torn Harry's shirt to bits. The collar he had managed to rip and the small holes near the seam was now a single very large hole. Harry did some damage to Zayn’s apparel as well. His leather jacket long gone, he also might have ripped off one of the belt loops on Zayn’s trousers. Zayn had sworn really loudly, but was not long forlorn. Harry's belt was already lost somewhere between leaving the club and getting in the cab home. Harry had had a difficult time keeping Zayn from just fucking him in the backseat. He still had some dignity thank you very much.

 

"Can't wait to get inside you," Zayn whispered huskily, before sucking the biggest hickey onto Harry's neck and then another, right underneath his clavicle. Oblivious to the fact that there was another couple in the elevator who was doing a much better job of keeping it in their pants. Lou was going to hate him. But that didn't stop Harry from moaning wantonly, and asking Zayn to not stop.

 

They staggered into the hallway, panting and still tearing at one another's clothing. Zayn took control and slammed Harry hard into the door of one of their hotel rooms, Harry wasn't sure whose it was. Zayn then proceeded to continue his oral exploration of Harry's mouth, pressing Harry back into the door with a firm hand. Meanwhile Harry tried without much success to open the door.

 

"Let me, just let me, open this..." Harry gasped in between kisses. Zayn slotted his leg in between Harry's and rutted against him. He let out a feral growl when Harry did not respond. Harry bucked his hips down and jiggled the door handle. Multitasking.

 

Finally they burst into the hotel suite.

 

"Gonna fuck you on the counter," Zayn announced, rapidly steering Harry into the kitchen area.  Harry's lower back collided rather painfully into the counter. He was most definitely going to have a bruise there. Zayn didn't seem to notice or if he did, he certainly did not stop. Instead he lifted Harry onto the counter with some super human strength that he possessed somewhere in his wiry body. 

 

Harry, once settled, immediately wrapped his legs around Zayn's midsection pulling him closer. Zayn pulled back a bit only to remove his shirt. Harry ripped at his own clothes not too effectively. So Zayn helped him out, peeling Harry out of his pants and jeans in one swift motion. Harry hissed at the cool touch of the marble counter against his ass.

 

His erection bobbed happily upwards, leaking precome all over his stomach. He reached a hand down towards to relieve himself, but Zayn harshly slapped it away. Harry settled for gripping at Zayn's shoulders.

 

"How about I eat you out?" Zayn slurred, more of a statement than a question. He didn't wait for Harry's reply. Zayn pushed Harry so that he was lying on his back stretched out over the counter, Harry's head just barely hung over the opposite edge. Harry watched his head disappear in between his legs and then he felt Zayn's mouth press into his inner thigh, his stubble a pleasant burn.

 

Harry felt weird, as Zayn first pressed a kiss of sorts to his entrance. He squirmed a little, as a wet tongue laved languorously at it. Zayn held his hips down on the counter, fingertips digging imprints into the skin there. Then, Zayn did something rather miraculous while adding a finger causing Harry to shake all over. His legs felt rather like overcooked noodles. Finally Zayn seemed satisfied with his work. Harry cried out rather embarrassingly loud and all needy at the loss of contact. 

 

"Got a condom?" Zayn asked, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

 

...

 

The next morning Harry read several articles about Zayn and Perrie's upcoming wedding. Which caused him to throw up in the bathroom toilet. He didn't understand why he kept sleeping with Zayn. If they had even slept together in LA. He never did find out. It was stupid. And he was the damned other woman in this situation.

 

He crept out of Zayn's hotel room as quietly as humanly possible after he had put his club clothes on. Or what was left of them. They were in a disastrous state. Of course Zayn decided to wake the fuck up at that particular instant.

 

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he asked groggily. His eyes were unfocused and red around the edges. His face was puffy from sleep, lines from the wrinkles of the pillow indented on his left cheek. Harry's heart sunk in and started to simmer in the acid of his churning stomach.

 

"Umm...."

 

Zayn groaned loudly and rubbed insistently at his bloodshot eyes. Leaning back into the pillow, he chortled, "I have got to stop dropping molly." 

 

Harry laughed, manically at that. Zayn would never sleep with him in an unaltered state. He got the message now. Unsure of what to do with himself, he fled the room, slamming the door as hard as he could on the way out. He'd give Zayn a taste of his own medicine. Ignore him so well that Zayn would come crawling back. Yeah, Harry rationalized, that's a good idea.

 

...

 

"Harry will you please explain to me why it looks like you got into it with a octopus?" Lou was cross with Harry because of all the bruises and hickeys leftover from that night in Tokyo. 

 

"I'm just super clumsy, I suppose."

 

"Uh huh. Running into things with your neck doesn't make too much sense, nice try Styles," Lou said roughly applying concealer on one of his love bites.

 

"Ow," he exclaimed as she dug into a particularly stubborn hickey.

 

"Serves you right, boy. You've got to tell your paramour to quit biting you. It's a pain to deal with teethmarks." 

 

"Mhmmm."

 

"Kay, strip down. You'll be doing some of the promo video submerged in milk. I gotta paint some abs on you or something. Contour it."

 

Harry obliged sheepishly. Stepping out of his trousers and then unbuttoning his shirt. He dropped both on the floor, and averted Lou’s gaze.  

 

"You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me. Harry...." Lou growled at the sight of the matching bruises on Harry's hipbones as well as the fingerprints on his ass.

 

...

 

Doing an art video in milk was pretty damn homoerotic. The tank was about half the size of a swimming pool. The milk frothing slightly about, churned by some kind of mechanical  motor. Harry wondered what they used it for normally. It seemed an odd thing to have on hand. 

 

Luckily Zayn was exempt from this activity. And he didn't even bother to show up at the studio. Probably recovering still. It would have been awful if he sprung a boner in the middle of the video. Seeing as Zayn's brooding intense looks generally had that affect on him. And even though Harry would like to throttle the bull shit out of Zayn, he wasn't sure his penis would be quite as obliging. 

 

"Okay, so what's going to happen is pretty simple. You're going to be knee deep in the milk, then I want you to basically bathe in it. Like show how you might clean your face," Simon explained. Harry nodded and stepped out of his bathrobe. He as only wearing a skimpy ass thong, essentially. Caroline loved doing that to him. And since the focus of the video was Harry's body, it did actually make sense to have it more exposed.

 

The milk was fairly soothing on his bruised and slightly battered skin. Mostly, he was glad that Lou was such a genius at make up. How mortifying it would have been had they had to postpone because of the state of his love bites. However, Harry felt disgusting during the whole shoot. He wasn't sure whether it was because he was mucking around in a huge basin of dairy or because the ghosts of Zayn's fingers, tongue, everything was still lingering on him. He couldn't shake the feeling. 

 

...

 

Harry scrubbed his skin raw following the video taping. He half expected there to be blood coming off into the drain. Trying to make himself feel like a real human again. And not a milk sodden mess.

 

He was certainly glad to be moving on to Milan. Maybe it would bring something better, or leave some old things behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this'll probs be 13-14 chappies long =.=


	8. This is the City of Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is in Milan, so he does as the Milanese do, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy guys. :)

"Harry! Great to see you again!" Alexa Chung waved. 

 

"Harry, this is Donatella Versace."

 

"Harry. Meet Karl Lagerfield."

 

“Kate Moss has been dying to meet you!”

 

Harry was so worn down. Even his bones felt tired, drained of all their strength. Simon had him networking out the wazoo as soon as he had set foot in Milan.  It didn't help that he had been having trouble sleeping since Japan. Nights were spent tossing and turning, his stomach churning and his head recycling the same useless thoughts over and over again. He was constantly in a slightly crazed, over caffeinated state. Which caused his hands to shake and his brain to crave caffeine in any form all the time. 

 

Thank god Liam was coming to Milan. That would help him right his axes a bit. Speaking of Liam, he really should have been there at this event. Harry wondered where he could possibly be. He was normally impeccably on time and now it was well more than half way through. Harry checked the time, it was nearly half past ten. How could Harry have missed him? He had been on the lookout since he had arrived a few hours prior. Besides, Liam would surely not show up that late to an event that began at 7.

 

Thinking better of it, Harry wandered around Versace's rented party home. Checking out a few nooks and crannies, just exploring. Also he didn't mind the time away from the hubbub of the party. His face ached from the constant smiling and he was convinced his left eye was starting to twitch. He wasn’t sure the fake smile nor the eye twitch would help engender him to people. Though, with the amount of botox in the room he wasn’t sure it would matter either way.

 

As he trekked up an incredibly impressive and staircase carved exquisitely from what he could only assume was marble. As he ventured deeper into the house, he decided that he found the decor of the mansion to be very tacky. Perhaps he was fond of cozier places, with more warmth and cheeriness than all the opulence and borderline oppressive grandeur of this particular venue.

 

Angry and chubby looking cherubs (also carved from marble) glared down at him from archways and from atop gold encrusted paintings. Frightful Italian nobles and celebrities alike frowned at him from within their golden gilded portrait cases. It was all terribly dreary. Fascinating what the wealthy and powerful chose to display to well, display their wealth and power. Definitely, a haunted house in the partying offseason Harry reasoned. 

 

Trudging down another rather long gallery hallway, Harry wondered where he would be now, had he not knocked Louis into a bush that fateful day, what was it, just a few weeks ago. Probably still working at that dinky little teashop, ahh the service industry. How he did not miss that. And now he was in Milan, at a party with people who made more money in a week than his family could in a decade. It was so bizarre. 

 

He nearly tripped a few times, lost in his deep thoughts. The carpet was extremely plush and it also looked as if it had gold woven into it. He made sure to tread lightly. The disapproving faces in portraits and the occasional miserable looking favorite pet dog were his only company.

 

Harry came across an impressively large false archway, under which an equally impressive set of double doors was to be found. There were even knockers each adorned with the roaring face of some kind of feline carved from gold or something of the like. He opened one of the super ornate looking doors, that lead into a sitting room. Scattered about the room were various chaises and fancy looking armchairs. This was where he found Liam. Tuxedo pants around his ankles, cummerbund lying abandoned on the floor. Balls deep inside a stark nude Louis who was currently half cursing about something and half moaning his ass off. His very exposed ass. Louis was clawing at the rather expensive looking drapes, with one leg and foot hoisted up on a heavily cushioned window bench, which had seen much better days.

 

"Oh my god. I'm so sor--, I'm leaving." Harry bolted before he could bear witness either of their reactions.

 

...

 

Harry slammed directly into Zayn when he was trying to escape and erase the memory of having seen his boss fuck Louis, and vigorously at that. It wasn't working too well. The images were on permanent replay in his brain at the moment. Zayn managed to steady Harry as his legs almost crumpled beneath him, only letting out a tiny noise indicating that he was startled. Zayn’s touch was hot through Harry’s tuxedo sleeves. The firm grip on his wrists lingered until Zayn remember himself. He dropped Harry’s arms as if it had burned him. All the while Harry attempted to collect himself, if only just a little.

 

"Did you know that Louis and Liam were, erm, for lack of a better word, fucking?" Harry half-panted half-blurted at Zayn who looked disgustingly composed, hair swept gently off his forehead, clean shaven today. But that wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

 

"Yeah, well they have been together since uni, what is it like 3 or 4 years..." said Zayn slowly, his eyes glued to the ceiling. 

 

"What the actual..." Harry couldn't believe he hadn't seen it. How could he have missed it. Now he felt plain imbecilic. He attempted to restrain a sharp pang of jealousy. In review of all his relationships ever, they weren't really known for their stability nor their longevity.

 

There was that one girl whose name he could never remember. But in high school they started having sex when Harry was sixteen and that was that. Harry knew her body so well, but she never wanted to talk about anything. Which as a sixteen year old boy, he was just glad to be getting any. Harry suspected that she was seeing a lot more people other than him. Then there was Michael, Harry's best friend growing up. They had hooked up for a while. Well if mutual masturbation and never talking about it ever counted. Then there was a brief stint with that one older girl Harry had met through Gemma. Needless to say, Gemma had not been pleased one bit that Harry had been sleeping with her uni friend. It ended quite quickly. All in all Harry's track record for romance was none too impressive.

 

"Is something wrong? You've been standing there for like five minutes now."

 

"Why do you care?" Harry spat out before he could stop himself. Zayn didn’t looked shocked at his violent response. He merely shrugged and looked thoughtful for the briefest of moments.

 

“You're right. I don't really,” he leveled in a bored tone of voice. His eyes unfocused, not really meeting Harry’s glare. Then, he spun on his heel and stalked off, leaving Harry feeling pretty shitty.

 

Harry let out a huge sigh and kicked the stand of one of the ugly marble statues. It wasn't such a great idea. Now his toe throbbed and he confirmed the fact that he was indeed a daft idiot.

 

...

 

"Harry, I want to apologize for the other night," said Liam, flushing a little red around his neck, "It was very unprofessional of me to do that. If you haven't noticed Louis really gets to me. And well I hadn't seen him in a bit...it's not excuse I know. I hope this doesn't, err, change our working relationship."

 

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Seeing Liam and Louis in action wasn't what was making him upset. It just sort of spurred on his own inner turmoil about where he stood with Zayn. Or if he could even say he stood near Zayn. Well actually that was fairly clear, but he still found himself mulling over it much too much. 

 

"No. It's fine. I was just shocked, is all. I didn't realize that you two, that you were, you know, together. I guess I’m not very observant…" 

 

Liam let out a short laugh that even included a hoot. He slapped a hand down on his desk. He looked visibly relieved somehow. Liam patted gently at his slicked back hair and smiled, his cheeks dimpling.

 

“Harry, Louis and I have been together for quite some time. Hmmm, how long has it been now? I don’t know, nearly four years. Wow. It seems like forever though. Time certainly does fly. Well let me let you in on something. We haven't made the official announcement yet, but we're actually getting hitched pretty soon,” said Liam rubbing at his eyes a little bit. Harry noticed the broad platinum band around Liam’s ring finger.

 

That was a swift kick right in the lower stomach area for Harry.

 

"Really?" he managed to say weakly, "C-congratulations!" 

 

"Who knows maybe there'll be a double wedding. If Perrie and Zayn ever get their shit together. They were always that on and off again couple. Ever since, well, enough of that. How was Tokyo? I've seen some rough edits of that milk video. Must have been a fun thing to shoot, huh? What'd you think, it was all Louis' idea, did Simon tell you?"

 

Harry tried to suppress his impending groan. Internally, he was banging his head against a desk repeatedly. Frontal lobe damage ought to help him forget right? It would be Louis' idea. And of course Liam would like to see his fiancé, well Harry didn't need to picture that as well, thank you very much. 

 

"Was it now?"

 

"Indeed," Liam nodded.

 

It was good, I suppose." 

 

"Just good? The milk video was just incredible. I was so blown away. So impressive. A great addition to your portfolio. I really think you've come a long way. There's something very raw about your emotions that translated very well."

 

"I'm glad."

 

"You should be. I’m really pleased with it. Well I should probably get back to work now. I kind of shirked on some responsibilities by being unavailable the other night. I've got to make nice with Versace now, that ghastly old bat." Liam shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. 

 

...

 

Harry found himself incredibly drunk the third evening in Milan. The stumbling into rubbish bins and making moves on darling elderly ladies kind of drunk. His tolerance had definitely turned to complete shit since his moving to the United States, understandably. Being as he was only just 20 years old, drinking in the US at least openly wasn't terribly much an option. Italy however, was another story. That evening with dinner he had consumed copious amounts of vino with dinner. Talk about ruining his figure. Besides he wasn't paying for any of it. He just hoped his one night of binge eating and taking to the drink would not have reprehensible affects on his body. He had always had a fast metabolism anyways. 

 

Presently Harry was stumbling down some old cobble stone street between the corner of the bar he had gone to alone and gods knew where. Tripping every other step, he seemed to be lost. Which made sense, since after a tense dinner the one at which he drank a shit ton because he could and because it was terrible, horrible and awkward affair with Liam and Louis and Zayn and oh yeah Niall, he decided to walk himself aimlessly around. 

 

The bar he found was just a major plus. Plus the bartender was a beautiful Italian Greek statue, which didn't make much sense to Harry since he was Italian not Greek, but he was so drunk he just wanted to make eyes at him from his barstool. And flirt really awfully. Gosh, Harry was right horrible at flirting. At least this guy’s English was so bad, so they pretty much made eyes at each other for prolonged periods of time. This was the reason he assumed his relationship with Zayn never went beyond a casual drunken tumble here and there. Since Harry was a professional foot putter in the mouth, after all.

 

Eventually the bartender took pity on him, and told him, in heavily accented English that his boyfriend was out of town if he wanted to "make the sex". He did this while handling Harry's curls with a gentle but strong hand. Harry growled vehemently and promptly slapped the bartender’s hand away. The other man was clearly very confused but certainly got the message when Harry stomped angrily out of the bar. He refused to play the other woman to yet another tall dark and handsome beauty. It was too much. The universe definitely hated him. 

 

And of course the universe showed that it truly despised him, since his stomach staged a massive rebellion, and he promptly emptied its contents on the street corner. He just missed the gutter. Damn he'd have to work on his projectile vomiting aim. Luckily, none of it had splattered anywhere close to his very expensive, very new Italian leather shoes. He couldn’t have that now, could he?

 

"Harry?" a voice called, drawing him out of his crouch. Harry wiped his mouth and looked up. Of course it was fucking Zayn.

 

"What do you want?" Harry spat, literally. A spray of putrid saliva flinging out of Harry’s mouth. How had Zayn even managed to find him? Milan was not so small, was it?

 

"Liam told me to come find you. Cuz you drank a lot at dinner and stuff. Are you alright?" Zayn offered, shrugging. He offered Harry a hand, which Harry pretended not to see.

 

"I'm fine. Just dandy." Harry waved and flailed his arms wildly as he spoke. Harry was never too great with sarcasm.

 

"Uh huh. We should get you back to the hotel," Zayn came over and helped Harry to his feet. Harry struggled a little bit but let himself be hauled to his feet.

 

"What so you can pity fuck me behind your fiancé's back again?" Harry laughed hollowly. Then he spit on the ground by Zayn's feet. Zayn stared, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

 

Per usual Zayn didn't respond, so Harry continued his tirade, "I will even let you call me Pierre. You like that, I know you do. So don’t bother denying it. And then of course tomorrow we can pretend that it never even happened, yeah? You good with that?" 

 

"Harry, I, I'm sor--"

 

"No no no no no! I get to talk. You shut your mouth," Harry slurred, "It is my turn to talk." 

 

"You're a cheating prick, you know that. You lie and you cheat. I am pretty sure you would fuck anything with legs and a beating heart. And what's worse is that I'd let you. Even though I totally think cheating is bad. Really bad… I'd let you have me every time! Even when you're old and gray and have a million little Maliks running around. Feel free to give old whore Styles a call. Open 24/7 for Zayn Malik!"

 

Harry flung his arms out accentuating and hoping to effectively illustrate his openness. And then everything went black.

 

...

 

Harry woke up with a pounding headache and cotton mouth like he had never had in his life. It was reminiscent of the first time he had smoked marijuana. The hacking cough and the dry beyond belief throat. The only difference was that he wasn’t hungry. However he was empty, in an aching way, distinct from hunger. His stomach roiled a little as he tried to figure out where he was.

 

Though he was a wee bit anxious, the bed he was in was warm and fluffy, quite comforting. Judging from the amount of sun streaming into the room it must have been nearly noon. Harry took a brief survey of the room. To his surpise he found Zayn who was sleeping in a chair next to the bed. Mouth open slightly, light breathing noises coming out. His neck looked like it was in an awfully uncomfortable position, all craned over to one side.

 

The memories from the evening prior quickly came rushing back.

 

"Fuck, fuck, shit." Harry cursed under his breath. He really ate it this time. He couldn't believe Zayn was still there, in the chair, in his life at all after what he had said to him. He didn't seem the type to put up with that kind of melodrama. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Harry.


	9. This is the City of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry on a blustery few days in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Paris was everything Harry had always dreamed it would be. The city of love or some shit. Well Harry had really felt the love when Zayn had fucked him against the window of their penthouse suite in broad daylight. 

 

But that wasn't the first day. The first day they had had their show. They seemed to get easier and easier after each runway. 

 

Harry had owned the catwalk, even causing Zayn to raise both brows high and tell him, "Not half bad," once he had finished the show. Harry would have been happy, but he quickly remembered he wasn't on good terms with Zayn any longer. So like any sensible and mature adult, Harry just sniffed and sauntered away. Zayn however had been uncharacteristically nice to him since Milan however. Perhaps he felt bad for Harry. He secretly hoped Zayn cared. In his heart of hearts though, he was afraid he didn't though.

 

Working in Paris was a dream, thought Harry. The city itself was absolutely beautiful. Harry certainly wouldn’t mind coming here for work every so often. There was definitely something in the air. People were much more attractive, well dressed, ate amazingly but still maintained svelte figures. It made absolutely no sense. Alas, Harry had always liked these sorts of incongruities. Which made his liking Zayn very logical. Zayn was a bit of a contradiction, incongruity in himself. Strangely serious and straightlaced about certain things, his job, his family, but then his moral compass at least in Harry’s mind’s eye was a bit wobbly.

 

Regardless of anything Zayn, Harry was mostly pleased because he got the opportunity to chat with some French male models in broken frenglish. He had taken French for a while in primary school, and wanted to test it out. Also for some reason Paris was the only location that had other male models on site, other than Harry and Zayn, which meant Harry and Zayn didn't have to go through wardrobe as quickly each time. That was certainly a relief for everyone. The male models were all very friendly and more than well fit. Harry even managed to get a couple número de telephone. 

 

At the after party Harry had been introduced to a friend of Alexa Chung, Nick Grimshaw. Who was a total doll. He and Harry got on right away. Quipping and sharing jokes all around. This was rather fortuitous as Perrie had flown out to Paris to spend time with Zayn, and maybe get more people to notice her and Zayn and the fact that they were engaged. He was just glad that Perrie had not showed up on time for the show. She arrived fashionably two hours late to the after party. Harry had done a spectacular job of avoiding her like the plague, upon Zayn’s request (though he most assuredly would have done that anyways). Her hair was bleach blonde now. Harry burned every time she laid a perfectly manicured hand on Zayn, which was pretty much the entire evening. Harry mostly watched the couple from behind a topiary arrangement or a wine glass, or a bottle of beer, or a whiskey shot.

 

Nick was such a laugh. Harry definitely deemed his quiff more quiffy than Zayn's, much to Nick's utmost pleasure. Nick was a total joy to be around. Harry and him became fast friends. In fact Harry may have found himself a best friend.

 

Nick even invited Harry out clubbing with him and Alexa. They hope from bars to lounges to discotheques (which were most certainly Harry's favorite). Harry and Nick may have danced with quite a few lovely men, and for the briefest of moments with one another, before they both started laughing so hard they had to take a break. While very inebriated Harry might have spilled the beans about him and Zayn to Nick. Nick snorted rather loudly at hearing all about that. Plus Alexa was in the ladies at the time. After all Alexa and Zayn seemed close. Plus Nick was a radio dj, so they weren't even in the same industry. 

 

...

 

The second day Harry found himself stalking Zayn and Perrie on their day out on the town. Admittedly not his best of ideas. But he couldn't help that they too were going to all the most touristy attractions in all of Paris. His feet were clearly on an entirely different page than his mind, as they steadfastly took him after Zayn and Perrie. 

 

At the Eiffel Tower, Harry had watched as the pair smooched, paparazzi clearly in sight, snapping away. Harry slapped his forehead, while hiding behind a rather nice topiary arrangement. He might be sick watching all that. First of all, what was he doing? Second of all why were Zayn and Perrie having photographers follow them around? Third of all why was he hiding in a bush? 

 

He nearly blew his cover a few times but with the help of a handy pair of sunglasses, a scarf, and a beret he was fairly well disguised. He felt rather daring, slinking about, blending in with the typical Parisians. He certainly dressed on par with them now. All skinny trousers, thin scarves, and scuffed up but extremely expensive ankle boots, oh yeah and the assortment of religiously affiliated necklaces that had no real meaning.

 

But havoc broke loose near the artist allies near Mont Martre. A stiff wind came and blew Harry's beret right off his head. He chased after it in desperation and accidentally knocked into an easel, which creaked loudly before falling, causing a chain reaction.  All the supplies that had been in their tubes stacked up next to it were also scattered about. The entire square seemed to go silent. Then, the owner of said easel began screaming what Harry could only assume were expletives in French. Everyone in the whole corner was now looking at him, including Zayn and Perrie.

 

Zayn looked completely livid. Veins popping out of his neck and eyes narrowed into thin golden slits. Face becoming slightly ruddy. Harry had a feeling Zayn knew he was following him the whole time, but this was just embarrassing for everyone. His face was ruddy, with anger. Perrie's reaction was however very much the opposite.

 

"Oh my god! Pierre is that you? What a coincidence we should meet again and in Paris of all places!" She enthusiastically began bouncing her way over to Harry. 

 

"Hello," Harry waved his hand akin to a limp fish, mental kicking himself so hard. This couldn't possibly end well.

 

That's when Harry remembered that the artist was still cursing him out and even began shaking Harry using the end of his scarf. The man had a crazy look in his eye. Spit flying off his lips, spraying Harry's face. Harry was a little frightened, as the man had an awfully large boil right on the end of his chin. And frankly looked as if he wouldn't mind murdering Harry on the spot. 

 

Then a quick scuffle and Zayn had the man by the scruff of his neck. One of his arms twisted round his back and pinned there. He muttered something in the man's ear. The man looked spiteful and he even spit on Zayn's shoes before shoving Zayn off of him and going to collect his things. 

 

"Oh honey! Here have some hand sanitizer," Perrie doted, squeezing a plentiful amount into Zayn's palm.

 

Zayn nodded grimly and rubbed his hands together. Harry felt relieved but also a rising sense of terror. It was as if Zayn had saved him only so he could kill Harry himself. Slowly, Zayn turned his face towards Harry, out of Perrie's line of vision.

 

"You've ought to watch yourself Pierre."

 

"Yes. Yes I do." Harry shook his head a little. Zayn's expression was inscrutable. A melange of disgust and relief and pity. 

 

"Oh Pierre!" Perrie jumped onto Harry's arm setting him a bit off balance. She squeezed his bicep in one hand and placed the other on the square of Harry’s left pectoral. Much too close for comfort.

 

"You just have to have to have to come to dinner with us this evening! Zayn has booked us the most romantic dinner. But we wouldn't mind at all if you tagged along. Would we, honey?" She gave Zayn a pleading look, still maintaining her surprisingly strong grip on Harry's arm. Harry would have shook her off but he was still trying to process the situation.

 

"No--" Zayn swallowed his protest when Perrie leveled an intense glare at him.

 

"I couldn't, really, I couldn't impede." Harry attempted to loose Perrie's grip on his bicep, but she only seemed to hold on tighter. Harry felt an impending sense of dread knotting itself in his stomach. 

 

"No, I insist." She flashed her very white teeth at him.

 

"Well, if you insist," Harry shrugged, his stomach cramping uncomfortably. Zayn might have stamped one of his feet, and tightened his knuckles til they turned white but Harry didn't notice because Perrie was already dragging him excitedly down the next crooked cobblestone alleyway. 

 

...

 

Dinner had been a disaster. What could any one have expected though. Harry's shins were going to be completely bruised for weeks, what with Zayn kicking him every time Harry made up another facet of their fake relationship. Harry honestly didn't understand how Perrie had no idea who he really was. But he supposed that maybe, just maybe, Perrie lived under a rock. In which case Harry could continue diddling Zayn long through their marriage with know repercussions. But that really didn't sit too well with Harry. His moral compass hadn't gone that far downhill. Had it?

 

At least there was alcohol involved, Harry reasoned. He sipped periodically and often at a glass of something amazing. He figured since Zayn was cashing out for this dinner, he might as well get something good. Besides, it was absolutely ridiculous that he should even have to be at this dinner. Why hadn’t Zayn put his foot down? Well, Harry knew the answer to that. Zayn couldn’t stand up to Perrie or say no to her at all, that was very apparent very quickly. Perhaps, Zayn was secretly a masochist. Harry kept his best poker face, though he felt rather like grinning wickedly at the thought of that.

 

Really, Perrie was the only person who spoke at all. Occasionally getting Zayn’s input, which was almost always just a grunt or a nod in the affirmative. Harry kind of sat paralyzed, mechanically answering some of her questions and throwing food down his throat. Perrie just mostly was curious about why Pierre was in Paris, to which Zayn replied that he was visiting his grandmother of some bull shit.

 

It got more awkward when Zayn decided to take an unusually long trip to the bathroom. Harry supposed he too would want to have a nice and good cry if he were Zayn. During this time Perrie babbled about wedding plans and this and that, and maybe they'd have it here in Paris, but wait destination weddings on tropical islands were all the rage right now. And what did Harry think about her dress, as she showed him about twenty different ones on her phone.

 

Harry was surprised at how good he had become at pretending. Pretending that he didn’t feel sick to his stomach. Pretending like he still thought liking Zayn was still a good idea. Pretending like he knew what he was doing and who he was. Now, he was getting all existential now.

 

Finally the conversation took a turn, "I know who you are, Harry Styles," she said her voice still as light and airy as it had been when discussing frivolous wedding details. It was akin to being dropped into a pool of icy cold water. Harry froze in place, he could barely feel his body. Taking a swig of her rose wine, she traced her deep purple painted index finger over the glass' rim. Harry felt the blood run out of his face. It was like ice being trickled down his spine, her light, casual and out of the blue interjection.

 

"Anyway, it doesn't matter much to me," she shrugged, "Zayn can fuck whomever he'd like. I frankly, hmmm, how do I put this? As long as I have this." 

 

She held up her left had, the overly large diamond on her engagement ring twinkling in the light from the candle. Harry swallowed.

 

"I think you get the idea, yeah? Oh and don't be stupid, don't mention this to him. Afterall, we both know how this is going to end." 

 

Harry was speechless. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out.

 

"Can I?"

 

Perrie rather viciously stabbed a stalk of asparagus on Harry's plate. She smiled victoriously then crunched on the asparagus. And when Zayn returned she laughed and had the audacity to wink at Harry as he swooped down to kiss her on the cheek. 

 

...

 

"Your fiancé. She's interesting."

 

"Yeah? I guess you could say that. She's cool, though." Zayn shrugged, fingers tapping at the juncture where the interior met the car’s window.

 

They were riding in a limousine, going back to the hotel. They had rounded out the Paris tour by giving a few interviews and getting some sample clothing. The whole affair had been tense, considering the evening before had been the Perrie show, something which clearly stressed Zayn out.

 

"It's just that she seemed so different from the first time we met..."

 

"Harry let's not talk about her, yeah?" Zayn said with a sigh, leaning his head against the tinted window.

 

"You're right, we don't have to talk," Harry murmured. Then, a surge of courage overcame him and he slipped a hand onto the inside of Zayn's thigh, giving it a playful squeeze. Zayn slapped at his hand, but Harry paid no mind, letting it creep closer and closer to Zayn's cock. He grasped it in his palm, giving it a hearty squeeze. Zayn bit his lip, teeth indenting the pink of his bottom lip.

 

He felt a swell of glee as it began to harden under his perusal. Zayn bit his lip stifling a groan, as Harry massaged him through his pants.

 

"You should fuck me against that big window in our penthouse," Harry whispered against Zayn's ear. Feeling particularly daring, he let his tongue flick out against the shell of it. Zayn smiled and emitted a tiny laugh.

 

"Fuck, Harry," Zayn panted. 

 

"That's the idea."

 

...

 

Harry awoke to Zayn pressing scruffy kisses onto his shoulders. They tickled lightly at his skin. He smiled into a pillow, and snuffled into the feel. They were tangled in a massive storm of hotel sheets, blankets and pillows. He felt Zayn's erection insistently pressing into his left buttocks. A slightly sticky feeling was still in between his legs. They didn't do much else after they had returned to the penthouse the night before.

 

Harry blindly reached out a hand, search for Zayn's anything. His hand landed on Zayn's nose, which he tweaked gently between his middle and pointer finger. Zayn tried to nip at his fingers with his lips.

 

"G'morning," Harry said finally. And happily he rolled over to face Zayn in the bed, peeking at him through heavy eyelids. Zayn lethargically let a smile pull at his lips. Then he lazily pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead, trailing affectionate kisses on each of Harry’s eyelids, cheekbones, until finally pressing their lips together. Harry grinned into the kiss, and brought a hand up to cradle Zayn's face. Zayn began tracing the ship tattoo on Harry's bicep with his forefinger, dragging the pad of his finger all the way to the black heart right beside it. Harry shivered and wiggled under Zayn's insistent touch. 

 

"Your beard grows really fast," Harry mumbled against one of the pillows. He stroked his fingers over the fine hairs above Zayn's upper lip. 

 

"I know, Pez hates it," Zayn said sleepily.

 

Harry's face burned and he promptly shoved Zayn off of him. "Perrie is not blind you know."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"She knows."

 

Zayn shrugged, "Whatever, I don't actually plan on marrying her."

 

"That's really fucked up." 

 

"There's a lot of things you don't know."

 

"Well, it's wrong."

 

"Lying isn't a good look on you, Harry." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chugging along. I estimate another 5 chapters.


	10. This is Not What It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's back in the UK baby, so that's a good thing right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to disclaim that I have nothing against Perrie Edwards and the representation of her in this fic is entirely fictional.

Harry had not been to London much growing up and certainly he never frequented the more posh areas. It was strange seeing his own country from an entirely different perspective. Unnerving even.

 

After some promotional work, a press conference here or there, the tour had a few days break once in the UK. Zayn was from Bradford and didn't get visit home much as most of his work was in the US and other European countries. Harry supposed it didn’t help that he hated flying. As soon as their last interview wrapped up he hopped on a plane out of there. Harry didn't think he would be, but he was glad he'd have some time away from Zayn. Maybe it would help him clear his head, sort out his priorities a bit.

 

It seemed almost as soon as Zayn had left, his back receding into the crowds at the airport, a weight was lifted from his chest. Like Harry didn't have to perform any longer, because no one of consequence was watching him any longer. And for the briefest of moments Harry found himself feeling like he could get over Zayn. And would once the blasted tour was finished with. With a slight spring in his step, Harry exited the terminal gleefully.

 

Harry’s mum and Gemma came to pick him up at Heathrow. He had never been so relieved to hug them both. And maybe be coddled just a little bit. He nearly melted at the physical contact, their warm hugs and cheery, genuine words. They looked well, the same as they had when Harry had left. Well except for the fact that Gemma had dyed her hair a wild shade of blue and lilac, which Harry didn't much understand, since wasn't she looking for a proper job or something now? She looked happy though.

 

"I cannot believe my baby boy is a model!" his mother exclaimed pinching enthusiastically at his cheeks. "Harry, you look so...so manly. And strong."

 

"Hi mom!" came out a little muffled since she was still squeezing his face while they stood in the baggage claim terminal in the airport.

 

"Gemma." Harry nodded at his sister who was looking airily around. She wore her typical look of general disdain for public places, busy areas and the like. 

 

"Hey," her face broke out into a small grin, she ruffled his hair. "When'd you get so tall?"

 

...

 

"That Zayn boy, he is so good looking!" His mom whistled before taking a sip of her cup of tea. Harry had given her some negatives from various points in the campaign. He was starting to sort out a portfolio at the request of Liam, who claimed it to be an important skill that models should have. Honestly it was much more difficult than he might have ever imagined. He quickly discovered he absolutely hated looking at photographs at himself, let a lone having to discriminate between multiple shots that all made him look exactly the same. It was a rough business.

 

"Yeah I guess he's alright." 

 

"Oh honey, you look really good as well." 

 

"Thanks mom! I'm glad you think so," Harry exclaimed, coming round the counter to hug his mum from behind, resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder. She felt so solid and warm to touch. He snuggled himself a wee bit closer. His mom flipped through some of the stills from the milk video, causing him to flush deep red. Thankfully she made no comment.

 

"Who is that on the radio?" Harry asked innocently. His mom went to turn it up.

 

"So, rumor has it you're getting hitched?" 

 

The static crackled a bit on the words. It was clearly Nick Grimshaw. Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. They had been texting and made plans to bum around together before Harry left for America. 

 

"Yeah, yeah I am! I'm so very excited," Perrie's cheerful voice rang out from Harry's mother's tiny kitchen radio. 

 

Harry gripped at the side of the counter, knuckles nearly turning white. His mom dutifully was still going through the photographs, completely oblivious to Harry's change in mood. Harry rolled his eyes so far back he would probably soon see his brain. Ahh, Perrie. Perrie, Perrie, Perrie. Never in Harry’s life had he been so utterly confused by a single person. Perrie seemed even more mysterious than Zayn, which was really saying something. What was her intention really? At least to Harry, it didn’t seem that for Perrie Edwards it would be terribly beneficial financially to marry Zayn. Seeing as she was already loaded.

 

"Isn't he a little young to be getting married?" his mom asked absentmindedly. Harry harrumphed a little bit. His mom raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She then took a long sip of her now lukewarm tea.

 

"Wow, just fantastic. Zayn Malik is one lucky man. Sorry to all the interested ladies and gentleman," Nick laughed. 

 

"We are just so happy about it."

 

Harry walked over to the radio and shut it off. 

 

...

 

"Hey Harry! Quit shifting your bum about. Sit still, wil you?” Lou chastised as Harry fidgeted in the seat. She was trying to set in the final touches to his hair. He had been in the chair for nearly an hour now. Needless to say he was quite bored and entirely restless. As much as he enjoyed staring at his face transform before his eyes, it was getting a little old. And apparently makeup for television was much more extensive than for regular modeling work. Harry would never understand why. But he had gained some more spots since returning home, and Lou was not pleased. Thus doubly long time spent getting beautified.

 

“What have you been eating boy?” Lou said, her voice muffled by the hair pin she held between her teeth.

 

“I dunno, I really just eat mostly fruit. A lot of bananas, and oranges. You know…” Harry mumbled, hissing when Lou scratched his scalp a bit with one of her long nails. She was currently massaging some hair gel of some kind into his hair. It smelled nice, a bit like something tropical with something else a hint of something spiced mixed into it.

 

“Good god. Harry, you’ve got to use that scrub I gave you for your face. Your spots are proper terrible. Promise me, yeah?”

 

“Fine, fine.” Harry grumbled.

 

Simon, Zayn and Harry were all appearing on an episode of the Jonathan Ross show. It was a live show so Harry had to be impeccable. And look the part of the international model as well. For some reason Ross was doing a special on New York Fashion Week, which was upcoming.  Harry really didn't get why, since it had nothing to do much with the UK, but he just did what he was told. And didn't ask questions.

 

"Now you promise me, no monkey business!" Lou said, "Can't be rubbing your sleeves all on your face. It'll smudge everything up."

 

"Yes, Lou," Harry said, impatient to get this all over with. Though he had only been on tour for really hardly three weeks he was totally exhausted. 

 

A quick spray or two of noxious hairspray and Lou deemed him acceptable to move onto wardrobe. She put some finishing touches on Harry’s hair with a few quick brushes of her nimble fingers. Then she playfully slapped Harry on the bum as he gleefullly leapt out of the chair.

 

Caroline tutted at him for his slow amble after his initial jaunt from the hair and makeup chair he was hit by a wall of exhaustion. She quickly had him in a sharp black suit. She even let him lint roll the thing himself. However unsatisfied with his work, Caroline ended up grabbing the damned contraption and doing it herself. It appeared Harry was still not up to stuff.

 

...

 

Zayn and Harry sat soundlessly next to each other on two separate adjacent couches in the ready room for the Jonathan Ross show. It had been only four days since they had last seen each other, but the ocean between them was as vast if not more so than ever. Zayn was wearing all black, a jacket over a turtleneck which should have been made illegal. No one should look good in one, and somehow Harry could not bear to tear his eyes from Zayn's neck for more than a moment.

 

Zayn had one leg folded over the other. Knee jostling up and down to a steady rhythm. He also drummed his finger melodically on the black velvet plush of the couch's arm. He seemed antsy, well rested though. His usual bags (though typically quite minimal) were even more faded. Harry supposed Lou could have just laid the maquillage on a bit heavy that day.

 

Harry shifted himself until his body was angled towards Zayn, his own knee a hair’s breadth from Zayn’s leg. Zayn might have been aware of this imperceptible movement as he soon unfolded his legs, increasing the distance between them. Harry edged his hand slightly closer on the arm of the sofa little by little, till their pinkies brushed. A tingle, a little jolt of electricity traveled up his arm at the contact. And he was pleasantly surprised that Zayn did not withdraw his hand. His eyebrows merely raised a fraction then returned to their normal level. Zayn’s eyes however were focused straight ahead, not really honing in on anything in particular.

 

They had not spoken more than few terse words to each other since their argument in Paris. Harry was little miffed as well. It was definitely his right to be angry at Zayn after all. He was fucking tired of hearing about bullshit wedding plans for an event that so clearly wasn't going to happen. And Zayn was Zayn. Cryptic as ever.

 

They were going to be on air in another five minutes or so. And Harry was bored and Harry wanted to get a response out of Zayn so he did what any logical person would do. He got up, straddled Zayn on the couch and kissed him full on the mouth.

Zayn of course gave in, lips ferociously meeting Harry’s with a certain unfamiliar desperation. It seemed to convey more feeling than anything they had shared before. Harry’s long limbs soon found themselves bracketing Zayn’s body on the couch. His hands a heat seeking missile for the edge of Zayn’s jaw, running his fingertips through Zayn’s grown out beard. Harry felt hands, all over, pressing into his back, rumpling his suit, and certainly the button up underneath.

 

Until he suddenly pushed Harry off, after all, "You do realize we're on air on national television?" a nervous looking personal assistant squeaked from the back of the room. 

 

...

 

Needless to say the interview was rather awkward. Really the main topics to be addressed were supposed to have been the campaign and the impending wedding. The latter was skipped over for everyone's sake. But that didn't stop Jonathan Ross for a bit of ribbing. It didn't go over so well of course.

 

After the interview was over Zayn was furious. His face darkening like the sky before a thunderstorm. He flew out of the building without so much as a glance in Harry's direction. 

 

After all, Harry had just outed one Zayn Malik, who happened to be engaged to Britain's darling up and coming artist Perrie Edwards, daughter of the Edwards jewelry empire. Oops.

 

...

 

"Please tell me that didn't just happen!" Liam frowned and pulled at his gelled hair, "On live television too for the love of..."

 

Liam paused the recording of the Jonathan Ross show on his computer screen. He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a few moments, before closing his eyes. He visibly slowed his breathing down, til the only sound in the room was the tic of the radiator, and the rustle of Harry’s shirt as he shifted about uncomfortably in the chair. Harry would have snuck a glance or two at Zayn, but he was too afraid. The tension in the room was palpable, it made Harry sweat in his underarms and brow furrow. His shoulders and unusually tense line, drawn up towards his head.

 

There were dozens of YouTube videos cropping up about Zayn and Harry's kiss. Often accompanied by steamy albeit cheesy romance songs with heavy saxophone parts. And the tabloids of course had had a massive field day with the scandal. Mostly shaming Zayn and calling Perrie incapable of keeping a man (Perrie had had a pretty significant breakup with another high profile man a few years prior). Thankfully, or not so much so Harry had been spared a lot of heat, most likely because he was only a minor celebrity at this point. In fact some of the tabloids congratulated Harry for breaking up a potentially terrible marriage. Liam was not pleased, that was an understatement actually. Liam was so pissed off he almost seemed calm. Eerily so at that.

 

"I hope you two understand that damage control for this can only go so far. Now, I know Harry's new at this, and not the brightest. But Zayn, come on. And your engagement was just announced. Please, I implore you, explain to me why this seemed like a great idea. Or why it even happened in the first place. I swear, keep it in your pants for five minutes. I've got reporters up my ass asking questions, begging for an interview. Hell, even my father called to ask me what kind of sideshow I was running."

 

“Zed, man, I really thought. Perrie…” Liam began but stopped short, remembering Harry was present. He gave him a quick glance, and began flicking the end of a pen against the desk.

 

Harry stared at the floor like a petulant school child. He felt like he was being scolded in the headmaster’s office or something. He occupied himself by picking a bit at his cuticles. Which sorely needed attention. He'd have to ask Lou whether or not he could be allowed to get a manicure or something. Did guys even get those? Liam was not his friend. He imagined Liam might want to punch him, for ruining his best friend’s engagement and all.

 

"What? Got nothing to say now," Liam scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing hs arms, "You two are probably glad Louis is in the US right now. You will never hear the end of it." 

 

"I cannot." Zayn raised his hand at Liam, then swallowing thickly, voice coming out low and gravelly, "I won’t work with him anymore."

 

Harry was shocked that Zayn even showed up at their present meeting. Well not really. Liam had sent a team of people to haul Harry into the London office. They must have had to send a whole swat team to drag Zayn in. Harry was impressed that Liam hadn't even thought to perhaps handcuff Zayn to the chair. He was definitely itching to leave. Harry could tell by the tense lines of Zayn's body. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw as sharp as ever. Every so often Zayn would blink glacially, then keep his gaze fixed on a spot beyond Liam's head on the wall behind the desk. His lips were pursed and all Harry could think about was kissing them again.

 

Zayn had been more than pliant if only for a few moment backstage. His hands coming to rest comfortably around Harry's hips before he had rudely shoved him off. Harry wanted to memorize the feel of Zayn’s hands and lips and everything on him. It was despairingly wonderful.

 

"Harry, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Liam quirked a single eyebrow in Harry's direction.

 

"Umm. I don't know what happened. I just. Well. Sorry?"

 

Liam just shook his head, clearly disappointed. 

 

...

 

"Harry, babes, do you wanna talk about it?" His mother called after him as he stomped up the stairs. 

 

He had to fight through swarm of paparazzi outside his house to even make it to the front door. It was certainly a battle. How had they even found out where he lived? It seemed all too overwhelming. No wonder Zayn preferred the anonymity of growing out his beard and looking fairly shitty while in New York.

 

His bedroom door slammed satisfyingly behind him. He lay back on his bed and bore a hole into the ceiling with his staring. New York was certainly going to be something else. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be updated a little more sporadically. My semester has started up again and I've been quite busy. Please stick around tho. I'm aiming to finish this bad boy at least by April!


	11. This is Where Things Start to Crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's cookie crumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!

"So Harry Styles! What a great name for a model, am I right? Anyways, why don’t you tell me all about yourself," said the host, "What made you get into modeling and what not?" 

 

"Oh, well to be honest I had never thought of it before. It all happened by accident! I ran into Louis Tomlinson one day, literally. And then I met Liam Payne. Louis literally dragged me to see him!"

 

"Imagine that, must have been a pretty wild ride then. So now, you'll have to tell me, are you ready for New York Fashion Week?"

 

"As ready as I'll ever be! To be quite honest, I haven't thought about it nearly much as I probably should have! I still have a few shows before the main one. I'm walking in the McQueen show quite soon actually, as well as a few others."

 

"That must be very exciting for you then."

 

"Yes, I'm really very excited. A wee bit nervous though. Can you believe it, I've only been doing this for like barely more than a month. It’s all really kind of crazy if you think about it. Just a month ago I was a barista in the tiniest little shop over in SoHo."

 

"I'm sure you'll be great. That’s wild indeed. Do you think it has all been worth it? Or do you sometimes wish you had the quiet life back?”

 

“It’s definitely worth it. I have been all over the world now. It has definitely been an incredible ride and I’m glad to have been able to learn from so many great people. Sometimes its hard to believe. But here I am.”

 

“Okay, I am dying to know, as are many of out viewers, what's is up with you and Zayn Malik. You two are the talk of not just this town, but every town it seems."

 

"He's sorry he couldn't make it today. Has some business to take care of. But I'll have you know if I knew, you would know."

 

"Thanks, I'm sure. Well, this has been a nice chat with Harry Styles, the face of Simon Cowell's latest campaign, Jeunesss. Be sure to watch out New York, it's almost Fashion Week!"

 

...

 

Harry ripped the earpiece from his ear simultaneously ripping a low screech from the bottom of his throat. It had been evidently taped down on the back his neck, over some hair at that. Balling it up in his right hand he landed it in the trash can. Which he then kicked, hard. The can rattled against the wall, and the force of impact was enough to knock it to the ground.  Harry's foot hurt. A throbbing pain, that made his shoes feel to tight and the room much to small. Groaning in a mix of exasperation and discomfort, he cursed quietly, and pulled at his formerly artfully styled, over hair sprayed hair. 

 

He didn't notice someone else enter the room, as he kicked his shoes off, flinging them into against the wall as well. They bounced off the side of the trash bin and landed off kilter on the carpet.

 

"Harry are you alright?" Caroline asked, a rare concerned look on her face. She approached him with caution as if he might explode or something at any minute. He felt like him might.

 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just fine," he muttered under his breath. He threw himself face first into the sofa in the ready room at the studio. He didn’t care that he banged his knee on the edge of sofa or that his back ached from the uncomfortable angle that his too lanky body made on the too short sofa. Once his face was well and pressed into the cushion, he let out a wailing moan, and maybe kicked his feet against the arm of the sofa. A few gasping sobs wracked his body. 

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, probably Caroline. "Do you want me to get you anything? Should I get Lou?" 

 

Harry nodded and shook his head insensibly. He felt liquid, warm liquids, coming from the sides of his eyes, pooling around his nose. He snuffled, his face growing uncomfortably warm, as was his entire body. He felt like he might actually explode. Everything in his chest was so tight and winding even more so. The pressure was too much and his body could not contain it.

 

"Baby, it's okay," Caroline whispered quietly into his ear, "You're going to be fine. You're so much better. What's wrong, Harry?" 

 

She gently rubbed a hand over his shoulder blade. Soothing circles around his upper back. He shuddered, but wasn't sure if it was from the crying or the feeling of someone caring for him. It only made him want to cry harder. He had just been with his family as well. He could not comprehend the well currently springing from his eyes. When was the last time he had even done that. It was a torrent of all his bottled emotions, held at bay while he navigated the unfamiliar terrain that was his life now. 

 

"I'll be fine," he mumbled, almost a chant more to himself than Caroline, "I'll be just fine," 

 

...

 

Harry was like a robot. All circuits and wires, symbiotically working together to make his limbs move, and his face smile in the appropriate way depending on the social situation. Everything felt forced now. So much more than before. Each handshake, every single nicety exchanged with other models, photographers, reporters, even Simon. And especially Liam.

 

The cogs in his brain that were meant for happiness were rusted over, feeling creaky, and atrophied from a lack of use. It was exhausting having to pretend all the time when the only thing Harry wanted to do was kick his feet and have a super massive tantrum. If anyone was wondering about Zayn, well he hadn't been seen for days. Harry assumed he was holed up in his nice penthouse, biding his time. 

 

Harry supposed he would have done the same thing. Had he been outed on national television. Had his engagement to a famous starlet been made a mockery of, and ruined. In fact, given what had occurred, he reckoned Zayn was handling it all fairly well. Better than most at least.

 

No matter, Harry had things to do. Places to go, people to see. Zayn mattered not. Zayn was fast becoming a relic of sorts, being discarded from sponsors and from the hearts of Edwards' family supporters, which was quite a larger part of Britain. Harry was now a hot topic, ever since the incident, everyone seemed to want him more. To walk on their show, wear their clothing and promote their brand. Liam was pretty displeased about the initial situation, obviously, but he was coming around to Harry bringing in that much business. Harry supposed that was his only worth now. That he was the one to out Zayn Malik. He was the one to end an era of top modeling from possibly the best model in the planet.

 

Now, perhaps he was being a bit melodramatic. But it felt that way. What with how reporters hounded him and he just could not get a break. And his mum kept calling him to see if he was all right and he didn’t pick up the phone. And Gemma sent him a series of sad faces over text and facebook and twitter. He just did not know what to do or how to be anymore.

 

...

 

At the Alexander McQueen show, Harry was a bit of a wreck. Having not slept in probably a week, he was surprised that Lou hadn't killed him yet. She had been surprisingly gentle with him though. Sort of.

 

"You look like shit, Harold," Louis scoffed announcing that very loudly to the whole green room. Louis however was the same as always. Brutally honest with a health dislike of Harry. And frankly, Harry could not blame him. He had a) stolen his spot on the campaign b) outed his bestfriend to the entire world and c) was not terribly the most likeable person on the planet (aka he didn’t have the tolerance for Louis’ bullshit most of the time).

 

Lou was currently curling Louis’ hair. Louis looked like a fucking king. He was sitting in the chair preening, intently examining his fingernails. It didn’t help that his first outfit for the show incorporated heavy and ornate gold pieces. And even a crown. Apparently, Louis had been a favorite of McQueen when he was alive. They had worked together early on in Louis' career back in the UK. Of course Louis was still the face of the menswear line still and much to Harry's chagrin. He had been doing a fine job at avoiding Louis since he had walked in on him and Liam in Milan. 

 

Harry paid him no attention, keeping his eyes fixed resolutely on the ground. It was a nice ground. He was mostly relieved that Louis had yet to mention anything about the whole Zayn thing, on the Jonathan Ross show. Louis might have been talking at him, but Harry tuned him out.

 

“I’ll be done with him in just a minute. Be patient sweetie,” Lou explained, whipping out a huge can of hairspray. Harry held his breath out of habit, even though Lou was not working on him. The fumes were at times too much.

 

Harry leaned back into the chair and finally Lou came over to him. He let out a deep sigh and relaxed into the chair when she began brushing his hair. The slight pull of the brush in his hair was strangely satisfying. As if a little bit of pain made him feel more alive. He thought about a lot of things in the chair. But mostly of Zayn. Of course. He vowed to focus just on the show. So he just let Lou make him beautiful. Because if the outside was perfect, the inside couldn't be that bad, right? He wondered it had gotten so bad, he looked so poorly, that Lou didn't even say anything about the state of his skin (spotty), and the massive bruises around his eyes (bordering on raccoon status). Closing his eyes, he sunk back into the chair as his eyebrows were plucked and penciled darker.

 

"Caroline, told me what happened after the morning show, if you need to talk you know where to find me. I’ll always be here for you, if you need anything Harry. I know it’s been a rough few days. And Louis can be kind of a massive tosser, so just talk to me." said Lou quietly, before she went to do some last minute touches on Louis ever chaotic quiff. A small man, came over to Harry, he assumed one of McQueen's artists, and began working on prepping the specific makeup for the show. It was pretty intense judging from Louis’.

 

...

 

After the show, and after they had changed into their street clothing, Louis shoved Harry into a broom closet, and stepped inside himself. The air was stuffy and smelled overwhelmingly of bleach and antiseptic. Harry held his breath.

 

"What the hell is your problem, Tomlinson?" Harry spat out after his back had collided roughly with a broom and he managed to knock over a significant amount of the cleaning supplies. He rubbed his back and then looked up, searching in the dark for the door. Or anything really. 

 

Louis found the light as Harry heard a scraping sort of noise of the light string. It illuminated the creepiest hanging bulb in the world. It flickered a few times before shining brightly. And went directly into Harry's eyes. Louis looked crazed in the high contrast lighting. It didn't help that the makeup for the show was extremely vampiric. Heavy eyeliner and black lip. Not to mention the total washing out that the silvery foundation had done. Louis had clearly omitted to remove it.

 

"More like what's the fuck is your problem?" Louis exclaimed, punctuating each word with a stab of his index finger on Harry's chest. Harry shrunk into himself a little bit.

 

"I don't know what you're on about."

 

"Don't you fucking lie to me. Liam might be nice, but I'm not blind. I know what you're up to Styles. Quit fucking around with Zayn. You're really treading on thin ice." 

 

"I seriously have no clue what you're talking about."

 

"Don't lie. I'm not stupid. You may pretend to be a little pansy, green behind the ears babe, but I know better," Louis explained, his voice low and dangerous.

 

“I think you just need to calm down,” Harry took the edge out of his voice. Maybe that would help.

 

“Hah. What a joke. You, Harry, do not even try to pretend like you have a handle on your life. Let’s be real for a minute, shall we? You only got a job because you managed to maim my face. Also you fucked your way into it a bit too.”

 

Louis narrowed his eyes until they were thin slits, only the tiniest peeps of that icy blue peeking out.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Louis ran both hands through his hair, mussing it up a bit. It immediately flopped back forward on to his forehead. He let out a long gust of air and pulled his fist back. Harry shrunk into himself. Louis wouldn’t dare hit him would he? Harry closed his eyes and braced himself for impact.

 

But all he was met with was Louis’ cackle. “You didn’t actually think I would hit you? You’re not worth it. Stay the fuck away from Zayn.” Then Louis turned on his heel and flounced out of the closet leaving Harry mouth gaping open.

 

...

 

Harry laid on his back on the bed in his minuscule flat. He had a rare night off. Well, he had actually called Liam to tell him he was sick to get out of some bullshit networking event. There were plenty of people to cover for him. Well, not really. He just did not want to have to answer any more questions about the state of his and Zayn’s relationship. And how Zayn was. And was Perrie mad. And did he know that the Edwards company was going to sell millions of shares but now they have halted their trade. Reporters were nasty people. He didn’t want to smile until his jaw hurt to appease someone who would just go and write whatever in hell they wanted anyways.

 

Harry stared hard at this crack in the ceiling. Most likely the crack was caused by water damage. The pipes in the building were old and rusty, they leaked apparently as well. He knew it wouldn’t give him answers. But every day he swore the crack got larger and larger. So maybe Harry would get answers from it one day. Like a tidal wave of water would wash over him and give him all the answers.

 

He turned his cell phone over in his palm. It was new. Newish. It was really more of a work phone. But his previous phone had been so dodgey Liam had let him use this one for personal stuff as well. Not that Harry really had much of a personal life outside of modeling now. Thinking back on it he had no friends prior to running into Louis and being recruited.

 

He played a quick game of Flappy Bird on his phone. He died immediately. He honestly hadn’t been able to get past the second tube. Which probably was a metaphor for his horrible life choices and inability to get past himself or the damned green tubes of doom. Finally, thumbing through his contacts, he pressed call. It rang once before someone picked up.

 

"Hello? Harry, lad, what's up?" 

 

Harry exhaled the breath he had been holding in, causing him to sink further into the mattress. The springs of which creaked unsettlingly. He fiddled idly with a fraying thread at the bottom hem of his jumper, til it came loose, a long string unwravelled.

 

"Hullo Nick."

 

"You sick or something? You sound all stuffy." 

 

"Yeah, I think I might be," Harry sniffed. He rubbed a hand over his nose, squishing it down a bit against his face.

 

"How's fashion week going??" 

 

"Nick, I actually need to talk to you about something. Something kind of important. I need your advice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably update again in 2 weeks. :(


	12. This is All In Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a cataclysmic (entirely internal) meltdown. And drinks a smoothie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait ladies and gentlemen.  
> also sorry that Harry is so annoying in this fic. sigh and a half.

Harry hung up the phone with Nick some time ago now. He currently just sat in his flat, at a wobbly chair at the battered little wooden table in the dismal excuse for a kitchen, holding his head in his hands. It rocked back and forth. Harry had not even realized he had a bum chair leg until now. He had not been home enough. As if that would make the situation any better at all. Sighing he took a sip of pilfered alcohol, he had brought back from England. Might as well.

 

The amber liquid of his drink of choice (whiskey) burned as it went down his unprepared esophagus. His throat felt sore. Even though he hadn’t touched Zayn’s cock for quite a while. He kind of wished it was deep throating sore. Which was a weird thing to wish for. Mostly he just wanted to worship any and every part of Zayn. A cough wracked his diaphragm, almost causing him to spit the drink back up. He grit his teeth and held it down though. He slammed the bottle hard onto the wooden table. Even scaring himself with the loud sound that resulted from the impact.

 

His eyes blurrred, crossing as he tried to make sense of himself, his recent decisions, his drinking. Vision swimming, he laid his forehead down on the table, resting the full weight of his head, balanced over the frontal bone of his skull. Eyes closed so tight that the usual pinkish orange hues barely made their appearance. Pain bloomed everywhere and anywhere it could find residence.

 

A downwards spiral is generally characterized by poor behavior and decisions begetting further ill and whatnot, at least that is what Harry had always believed. So if he made correct, morally sound choices then he could pull out of it, right?

 

...

 

Now you see, Harry hadn't been the most honest person in the last few months. Not with himself and certainly not with others. And hell would probably freeze over before he had real talk with Zayn, if he ever even got to see his face in the flesh again. Perhaps this was to be expected, given the sudden and certainly rapid transformations in his life. The newfound money and minor celebrity, were clearly the most indicative and most obvious of the changes in Harry's circumstance and thusly his outlook on life. It had all happened much too fast. And before it was too late he didn’t know what he had gotten himself into.

 

In retrospect Harry definitely should not have just jumped into a contract like that. He had watched enough television and films to know opportunities that incredible to not come across that easily. How had he even been swindled into a job within a six hour period. Was it the money? The lure of fame? Or was it that Harry’s life was going absolutely nowhere at 100km per hour. Thinking back on it, he was rather listless beforehand. Skipped out on taking all his A levels. Sort of moped around all through June and then finally badgered his dad, yes, his dad who he hadn’t talked to his years to give him some dough so he could come to America and live there. He felt a little guilty about that. Seeing is the last time he talked to his real dad was when he cursed him out at one of the divorce proceedings.  He knew his dad felt guilty about it. So he used it.

 

In his minds eye Harry knew in the long run he would have been better off without all this insanity. Without the Zayn and without the modeling and all the stupid shit that came with it. Harry also knew that he could maybe stop feeling so guilty. Maybe. Since he could pay his dad back maybe. Or he could support his mom and Gemma. If they would take him. He had received a few sort of confused texts from his mom, nonplussed from Gemma in the last few days as the whole Zayn debacle had unfolded.

 

Though, Harry had never considered himself a bad person, a person with malicious intent per say, he had in his lifetime made his fair share of mistakes. While he tried to be polite and apologetic about most of these incidents, it wasn't always the case that he came clean about them. The incident with his dad was still black sludge under the bridge. But for a less dramatic example, the one time he accidentally ruined Carey's tea set (the girl who lived down the road), he lied and told her mother it had been the dog. Which wasn't completely a lie. And besides then he nor Carey had gotten in any trouble. In general though he tried not to make a habit out of lying, especially for personal gain.

 

So when Louis had shoved him into the broom closet, defending Zayn's honor and what not, Harry had begun to sweat a little. Feel a little bit more than guilty. A bit damp in his underarms. He felt like his chest might burst. And not in the good way. It was all tight and felt like exposed metal being struck with an spiked hammer, a mace or whatever it was called. Louis would be the one holding the mace, the one assaulting Harry with it. Or maybe Harry was hitting himself. Regardless, how he managed to keep a straight face the entire time was a complete mystery really. 

 

Well, he supposed it was best he review the events of the past weeks, if only to console himself that perhaps one day they might make a great life time special about the completely twisted and diabolical mind of an aspiring british male model in the Big Apple. 

 

It had all started in Paris right? He mused. Tapping his fingers on the table. It did. He chewed on the edge of his middle fingernail that had grown a little too long, ripping it off. His finger bled, a bright red ribbon coming off and smearing against the side of his ring finger. He sucked the finger into his mouth. At least blood still tasted the same. Not that Harry chose to partake in it often. Just that even with all his douchbaggery he didn’t turn into a fucking vampire or something. (But that’s a story for another time.)

 

There in Paris, he had had an illuminating conversation with a certain Nick Grimshaw. Who himself was a particularly illuminating figure in Harry’s life. A person who shed light on a lot of things, which maybe should not have had light shed on them. That conversation had definitely changed the course of his decisions and even his decision making process. It may have gone a little something like this:

 

"So, how do you like working with Zayn?" Nick laughed, then downed a shot of purplish liquid.

 

"Err, he's alright. Bloody good looking, that's for certain," Harry said after slamming back a shot of his own. It was completely foul, burned the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. He coughed. 

 

"So do you fancy blokes then, yeah?" Nick waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Harry wished his eyebrow motility was that great. He seemed to have the same two expressions, normal and surprised as fuck. That was the one where his eyebrows rose at least a centimeter or two higher onto his forehead. Gemma told him he looked rather daft when he made that face, but reassured him only slightly more daft than normal.

 

"Is the pope catholic?" Harry intoned. They both went into peals of laughter, drawing the attention and dirty looks from several other bar goers.

 

"What do you think about him?" 

 

"The pope? Francis. He's alright I guess, supports us gays sorta, so he can't be too bad, innit?" 

 

"No! I meant Zayn," Harry chuckled. 

 

"Oh, right. He's alright," Nick shrugged noncommittally, "Quiet if you ask me. Only have interviewed him once or twice now. His fiancé however. Well, the whole Edwards family, really, piece of work."

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"Well, it doesn't really matter. Why do you even care, Styles?" Nick paused for a moment, "Oh my god, you've totally slept with him haven't ya?" Nick went into peals of laughter. Gripped his stomach and running a hand through his quiff, which flopped back up after he held it down.

 

Harry didn't answer.

 

"I'll take that as a yes. Wait, are you in love with him or something?" Nick's eyes were wide.

 

"I just don't know," Harry said finally, sinking down to lay his head on the bar counter, which was sticky. It was uncomfortable and made his temple throb. He couldn't move though, crushed by the weight of his crush.

 

"Well, if you want my advice. High profile people can do whatever they want really. Their people clean up after them. Unless you do it live. Like on radio or on the tele. That way there's no way to like take back what was said. You get what I mean?"

 

"Are you suggesting I sabotage his engagement?" Harry was taken aback. Nick took a swig of his drink. Looked contemplative for a moment.

 

"I'm not suggesting anything," Nick raised both hands, "I'm just going to ask you, is this really what you want? Zayn's kind of, how should we put it more delicately. He’s a bit of a cheater as evidenced by, well you're well familiar. But I guess you would be no better if you went and ruined all of that..."

 

...

 

So what, Harry knew well what he was doing backstage at the Jonathan Ross show. In fact he may have even planned it a little bit. He knew the ready room was periodically aired. Espeically with five minutes to air, the chances of them being televised at the very moment and if Harry could occupy Zayn for the precise amount of time as well, he knew everything would go according to plan. And it did. What did that even matter. The deed was done. Zayn and Perrie had broken off the engagement.

 

Perrie was committed, Harry had to give her that, but even she couldn't survive a blow like that. Her fiancé caught kissing all hot and heavy another person, a man at that on national television. The Edwards did not stand very long for that kind of embarrassment. Zayn would be over sooner than not. The Edwards apparently had held up an ultimatum for their darling daughter. Be disowned or break off the engagement. And just like that Zayn had fallen from grace. His modeling career had come into question as well. With his recent bad behavior. The tabloids were even starting to call him the “Bradford Bad Boi” again, which was apparently a thing that Zayn absolutely hated if he could judge by the puppy dog frown on Liam’s face when he had seen that particular headline.

 

After all, Perrie was not purely interested in Zayn out of love. It was the status and the uprising fame and the new money. The union of which with the Edwards Empire would have made them unstoppable. Now that Zayn had been dislocated from all his glory, and relegated back to being some attractive punk that got called out for supposedly being a terrorist every so often, Zayn was worthless. Frankly Harry was surprised this work. He would have thought the world would be a little more open about stuff like this. But, it was England after all. Maybe America would prove to be more kind to Zayn. But seeing as Zayn was AWOL…

 

Harry in the corner of his mind might admit that he was a little pleased with himself. He had never been a fan of monopolies or people taking advantage of their wealth and exploitation and what not. Not that he really knew that much of anything. In fact he knew absolutely nothing about this. This was a delusion however. But the majority of his brain was regretful, and racking itself for ways to redeem himself. Zayn surely wouldn’t take him back now would he? He had fucked up his whole life. The whole 'if I can't have this nobody can' attitude was not something he had ever been familiar with nor felt before. So, how to best manage the situation at hand.

 

First and foremost Harry tried to remember why he even decided muck up Zayn's life in the first place. Obviously because he wanted Zayn. But why did even want Zayn? That was the really puzzling thing to Harry. When it boiled down to it, he couldn't think of a real reason, or at least a reputable one for why he even liked Zayn. Other than the fact that Zayn was the best bone he’d ever had up his ass (the only) and definitely the hottest person that Harry would ever have a chance with his in his life. Perhaps it was the way he felt completed physically by him, literally and metaphorically and poetically and shit. As if he had found his other half, the ying to his perpetual yang. Or was it that Zayn was tragically good looking and beautiful and basically a perfect human specimen (on the outside)? No, this seemed too simplistic. So what was it? 

 

Harry wrung his hands a little bit. They were dry. He needed to buy some fucking lotion or something. Maybe he would have to anyways. Seeing as he wouldn’t be getting any from Zayn any time soon, that was for sure. Back on down to ride the solo right handed train. Speaking of trains, he had missed the subway stop he was supposed to get off at. He was scouting out some new flats in a nicer area in the city. Considerably closer to Payne Models and the rest of the fashion district. Sighing, Harry got off at the next stop. He decided to go above ground, get some fresh air. Maybe it would help him clear his mind a little bit.

 

...

 

Harry ended up at one of his old haunts. A small hipster and vegan treat shop that also had a great selection of literature. Could he even call it that? His old haunt…He really had only been living in the US for like hardly a month before he started modeling. Or was coerced into it, honestly.

 

He sat in what he assumed was a hand carved chair. Sipping slowly at a greenish brown, entirely unappetizing looking smoothie. Scrolling through some news articles on his phone. He let his mind wander. Staring at the other patrons at the tiny shop. It was fairly tiring. They all looked so happy. Engrossed on their laptops or their little phones or nose buried in a book. Sipping their little drinks or nibbling on a vegan treat. Harry wished he liked to read. Among the long list of other qualities of which Harry was entirely deficient.

 

It seemed nowadays he only like to read trashy news. Usually the ones about Zayn. and Him and Zayn. And him and Zayn and Perrie. He especially liked reading the articles about the Edwards family. In the small mean corner of his heart, Harry was pretty proud of himself. Perrie was probably a brat he reasoned, always got what she wanted. So this, losing Zayn and a hell of a lot of face was all new to her. Generally Harry didn't see himself as vindictive or that he needed to inflict justice (if you could even call it that). However, when it came to Zayn he was like a man possessed.

 

A tween walked up to him. Her make up was laid on pretty thick, heavy blush as dark winged tips accentuated her eyes. She wore clothes much too old for her. At least in Harry's opinion. Which frankly he chastised himself didn't matter at all.

 

"You're Harry Styles, right?" Her voice was high, light and airy. Harry looked at her from behind his drink. 

 

"Depends who's asking," he grumbled taking a sip of his smoothie. The taste of which did not improve after repeated exposure. 

 

"I really admire your work." 

 

Harry raised a brow to that. 

 

"What I'm saying is, nice job. No one likes the Edwards, you know since they have a monopoly on the diamond trade."

 

"Sorry?" Harry spluttered a bit. 

 

The girl sat down at the table, crossed her legs and stared at Harry. She looked thoughtful for a minute, "Don't think about it too much," she pushed a cup towards him, "This is on me."

 

Harry took the drink and stared as she left the shop. He was completely bewildered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. expect this to be done by mid may. 2 more chappies and maybe some porny epilogue i don't know.


	13. This is Not the End Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds a lost kitten on his way home. Its name is Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo. one more chappie left. and an epilogue. thanks for sticking around guys! i know the update schedule has been a little weird

Harry was dumbfounded when he found Zayn curled up, sitting beside his door when he returned to his flat. Zayn's hair was flat, greasy looking, stubble coming in thick across his entire face. His eyes were shut, dark purplish bruises under each. His clothes were rumpled and unwashed looking. Harry didn't have to smell to know the odor in the hallway was coming from him. And despite all of that he still looked beautiful. The delicate sweep of his eyelashes stood out and the slope of his neck was exposed. Harry bristled a little bit not knowing what to do. 

 

Zayn didn't stir when Harry begun unlocking his flat. So Harry bent over, and shook hi shoulder gently. It was like waking a sleeping tiger, Zayn made a grumbling noise and turned his head the other way. Harry then grabbed Zayn by both shoulders and shook him. It felt good. Zayn's eyes flickered open finally. They were bloodshot and dull. He rubbed at them with his wrists.

 

"I guess I should tell you why I'm here," Zayn croaked. He sounded as horrible as he looked. He wouldn’t look Harry in the eye exactly either. His eyes flitted around Harry’s head, avoiding his gaze.

 

"Umm, yeah." Harry replied. He remembered he had perishables and frozen goods in his groceries. Maybe Zayn and Harry could eat ice cream and lick their wounds, or each other. Somehow, Harry doubted that was going to happen though. Zayn looked like he needed someone to take care of him. Harry wondered he could even do that. He knew he wanted to. But would he be able to? He could hardly take care of himself. Let alone an entire separate person.

 

"If you can believe it I got kicked out of my flat. Perrie had the locks changed. Fuck if I know how. She's not even on this continent,” said Zayn. He didn’t look angry or surprised. More resigned than anything. Harry reckoned Zayn felt that he deserved this. Harry sighed and hoisted Zayn to his feet, propped him up against the brick wall, as he fumbled with his keys again. He managed to unlock the door with ease this time.

 

"I just have to ask...how do you even know where I live?" 

 

...

 

Zayn and Harry had unusually friendly banter at dinner. Unusual because it didn't revolve around Zayn getting his cock in Harry. Friendly because of that as well, but also because they just talked about anything and everything. But nothing important in particular. Harry cooked them up a nice meal of some sort of vindaloo. Zayn had been skeptical at first, but actually ate up all of it like he hadn't eaten in days. Harry didn't understand where Zayn put it. 

 

"I didn't know you could cook," said Zayn, patting a hand on his full stomach. His eyes were glazed over. A melted honey, Harry felt like a fly trapped in the sweet, and probably going to drown in it. 

 

"Yeah, that I can. I mean you never really bothered to get to know me. Or even try to talk to me," said Harry cleaning up the plates. Zayn looked a little hurt by that. His eyes darkened and he folded his arms protectively over his chest. Harry felt a pang of regret, sour and dark run through him. But it was nice to have gotten that out. At the same time, Zayn looked so distraught already.

 

Harry's heart had been pounding frantically since he first laid eyes on disheveled Zayn outside his door. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Zayn to snap at him and maybe fuck him really hard against his own front door. Or worse to punch him, one good one right in the gut. Zayn was a dick but he wouldn't ruin Harry's career would he? 

 

"I can wash them, you know since, you cooked, I'll clean?" Zayn offered sheepishly. Harry blinked at him shaken out of his brief albeit tasty reverie. 

 

"If you really want to." Harry gave Zayn the plates. Zayn took them and dutifully began scrubbing away, with practiced ease actually. Harry watched on, leaning against the only other part of free counter in his kitchen. 

 

"You know I can do some things," explained Zayn quietly, "My mum used to work in a restaurant when I was growing up. So sometimes I would go and help out. I was usually on dish duty."

 

"I wasn't questioning anything," Harry raised both hands and shrugged. He could have sworn he saw Zayn smile out of the corner of his eye. A sweet gentle one, one that Harry had never seen before. Harry pinched himself but he didn't wake up. 

 

...

 

"Harry, I'd like to set the record straight," Zayn announced. They were both sitting on Harry's tiny sofa, after Zayn had showered. He looked like a scrawny teenager in the too large clothes he had borrowed from Harry. Harry thought Zayn looked perfect in one of his wooly jumpers. Very chic. Zayn smelled like Harry now too. Harry felt as though his heart might burst. Shatter into a million pieces. Because this was Zayn. Zayn was here. With him. In his flat. But he didn't want to get his hopes up to high. He didn't think he could face disappointment on this front too many more times.

 

"Hmm?" Harry purred.

 

"I want to apologize, I've been a real asshole to you for the past month. It was really childish of me. And you know I'm not saying this because Liam wanted me to set things right or something. I'm genuinely sorry." Zayn's voice was steady never wavering, his gaze locked on Harry's. Harry squirmed a little under the intensity of Zayn's gaze. 

 

"Zayn, you don’t need—,” Harry started.

 

"No, please let me finish. You see, Harry I've never been good. I'm not good. I just, every time I try and start something I always fuck it up," Zayn's voice grew bitter and a tinge sad. Zayn curled into his body a bit. "So when we met, the first time. I knew who you were. And I wanted to get back at you so badly. I don't even know what was wrong with me."

 

Zayn took a long slow breath, "You're not the first person I've cheated with on Perrie. There were a few others before. The thing is I do love Perrie. It was just so hard though. We never saw each other. And everything was starting to feel so force and fake even. I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too good for that. But with you. I, I don’t know. I just couldn't let go. You shouldn't have been dragged into all this shit. It wasn't going to end well either way. And for that I hope you can forgive me. My actions have been inexcusable." It sounded rehearsed as if he had said it in front of the mirror a billion times. Not fake, just as if Zayn had really considered the weight of his words.

 

Harry blinked once and then held his arms out. He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want to make Zayn feel any worse or even the rightful anger he should have towards Haryr. Zayn crumpled into Harry’s arms. His nose brushing against the plane of Harry's chest. It felt as if Harry had found the missing piece to the puzzle that was his life. Sleeping with Zayn wasn’t enough for him. He needed him like this, in his arms. He loved Zayn. The thought was dizzying but not nearly as terrifying as it should have been.

 

"I can feel your heartbeat." 

 

"Good to know I'm alive." 

 

Zayn snuffled a little into Harry's chest. Harry rested his thumb on the corner of Zayn's jaw, rubbed the stubble a little bit. It felt super domestic. It was super domestic. Harry had just cooked his man dinner. They were cuddling on the couch now. Harry wanted to do this for the rest of his life.

 

"So you ready for the show, what is it tomorrow?" asked Harry, still rubbing his hand against Zayn’s stubble. It was soothing, the slight rough against the smooth of Zayn’s skin.

 

"Yeah, it's going to be my last." 

 

"Retiring so young?"

 

"Modeling is not really for me," Zayn sighed, "I have mostly done it for Liam. And to give back to my family. In fact I do most everything for other people. Think s'why I fuck around so much, ya know? Since it's the only thing I do for me."

 

"That's very insightful," Harry ran a hand through Zayn's hair, forgetting it was wet. He wiped his hand on his own trousers.

 

"Hey, do you want to start over? For real this time. Like a fresh beginning." Zayn pulled back from their little cuddle, a fond look in his eyes.

 

"Sure, why not?"

 

"Hi my name's Zayn." Zayn held out his hand, Harry grinned and took it in his own.

 

"Hi I'm Harry. Nice to meet you Zayn."

 

"Can we get to fucking now?" Harry whispered after a few more pleasantries had been exchanged.

 

...

 

The space between Harry's bed and his sofa was not far. Barely even two meters. But they had managed to bump themselves on ever surface so far while in a struggle to get one another in the least amount of clothing as rapidly as possible.

 

"You need to get a new flat," Zayn laughed a little out of breath, as he steered Harry by his hips to the bed. The back of Harry's knees hit the edge of the bed and he plopped down onto it, making a terrible squeaking noise. Zayn laughed at that. The bed was unmade and pretty gross. But in that moment Harry figured it was about to get way worse, so he might as well just launder it another day. Zayn straddled him, looking down at him, his eyes narrowed. As if he were intently inspecting his property.

 

"Actually, I am. Just put down a deposit earlier this afternoon," Harry said, kissing a line from Zayn's sternum up to his neck, and then finally taking his lips in his own. Zayn growled into the kiss, and slotted his leg between Harry's, pressing against Harry's insistent erection. Harry bucked into Zayn's leg.

 

"Eager? Here I was going to say how very mature you have gotten. The house and all. But you're still a horny adolescent." Zayn grinned, continuing to grind his leg into Harry’s clothed cock. Why were Harry’s bottoms still on was the real question.

 

"I think I liked it better when you didn't talk so much," Harry said petulantly, "Let's put that mouth to better use, shall we?"

 

"Cheeky," Zayn muttered, before kneeling in between Harry's leg. He pulled the zipper of Harry's fly into his mouth, easing it down. It should have looked stupid, but it was Zayn. So of course, it ended up looking cool and Zayn actually managed to free Harry's cock. 

 

Zayn gripped it in one hand began dragging Harry's pants and trousers down with the other. Harry helped him a bit. But was swatted away. And also he lost all coherent thought processes when Zayn swallowed him down the root. Clearly Zayn's gag reflex was a bit of a unicorn, or he was really good at ignoring the fact that the head of Harry's cock was making the back of Zayn's throat his new home. Harrys’ moans came out in strangled cries. Clawing their way out the back of his throat.

 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry groaned and fixed his hands in Zayn's hair. Zayn hummed around his erection in response, as if to say I know. It's okay that you know how good I am as well. This vibrating sensation only caused Harry's pleasure to be amplified so he appropriately squealed, and hips stuttered up controllably. Harry could see the light. He was going to come and very soon if Zayn continued this way.

 

Then Zayn popped off him, a trail of saliva still connecting the two. Harry whined something unintelligible at the loss of contact. He looked up at Harry, thoughtfully for a moment. His lips a little red, swollen looking. Harry wanted to take him into a kiss and never stop not even for oxygen.

 

"I want you to fuck me," Zayn said. And Harry thought those were the best and sweetest six words he had ever heard in his life

 

...

 

They lay in a sweaty, messy heap afterwards. Their legs all twisted together still. Cooling come everywhere. It was pretty disgusting. But Harry was content to stay in this moment forever. Their slowing heart rates, the comfortable silence and the sound of their breathing, almost in time. Zayn traced Harry's tattoos with the tip of his index finger and Harry fondly admired Zayn's face and the fact that he was in his bed. Covered in his come and a sheen of sweat that made his skin glisten and look even more edible.

 

Harry had never come so fast as he had once he had been seated inside Zayn's body. His cock had been engulfed by an impossibly tight heat. Zayn was surprisingly nimble despite looking like he had come out of a doozy a few hours previously. Harry supposed since most of their hook ups had been drunk, Zayn might have also been impaired. When they were fucking, Zayn let out the most beautiful noises as well. Harry almost felt bad when he drew them out of him. Zayn had rode Harry like a champion. Harry wondered what he had done to deserve such an amazing gift in his life.

 

"I don't wanna ever leave the bed," Harry mumbled. He felt boneless and tired. Completely wrung out at this point.

 

"Me neither."

 

"It's going to be awful at the show. I don't get how you do it normally. What are we going to do?" Harry asked. He frowned at the thought of ever leaving his flat really. He didn't want to have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

 

Zayn shrugged, his shoulders rose minimally and then returned to their normal height. His hair flipping attractively over his face. Harry thought it made him look a little emo.  "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. I'm sure Liam will figure something out though. Don't worry your pretty little head too much about it. I bet we'll have security or something too."

 

"I'm not worried about me." Harry placed a hand on the side of Zayn's face. More of a caress really. He rubbed his thumb from the crease of Zayn's eyelid to his cheekbone. Zayn made a small humming type noise, one that came from the back of his throat. His eyes shut for a moment like he was thinking hard about something. Zayn frowned, the corners of his slightly swollen mouth dragging downwards slightly. Worry lines creased into his skin. Harry rubbed the frown lines gently with the pad of his thumb as if he could make them go away.

 

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

 

"I know. But I just feel like it's my fault," Harry began, "You don't deserve all the shit you've been getting. I have played a huge part in it."

 

“Harry shut up. You’ve not done anything.”

 

“No, Zayn, I just I feel like it’s entirely my fault. With the Ross show, especially. I…just. I don’t want you to take the  brunt of this…you don’t deserve it,” Harry said.

 

"That very well may be. Harry, I trust you. And just know tomorrow at the show, you're not going to be the one taking shit. But it's okay. I'm used to it. I've come to terms with this. If I wasn't okay with all of this I would probably have quit years ago. I can handle it." 

 

Zayn seemed pleased with his conclusion and he rolled over on the bed, his back towards Harry. Discussion closed. Harry felt the bile rising in his throat. His stomach churned. What had he done. How could he have used Zayn's trust like that and not even have told him what had actually happened. He felt a crushing sense of despair. He would have to break up with Zayn, if they even qualified as an item. Tomorrow, after the show. It would have to end. Because Zayn would find out Harry omitted to tell him the truth and would want absolutely nothing to do with him. He was by far the worst person in the world. And all because he wanted Zayn all to himself. To love him maybe. And to never look at anyone else. But for now, he would savor this moment. He snuggled in closer to Zayn, breathing in his rich, musk and he may have cried, there was water coming from his eyes. God Harry was such a fucking loser sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont kill me.
> 
> also:  
> This whole chapter is set to Rock Me. Specifically the part where Zayn says "I want you fuck me---YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"


	14. This is Almost Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry really is no better, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. Last official chapter. A day earlier than expected.
> 
> Also, I'm in the market for a beta. Like desparado. All of these have been unbeta'd and its helllllll. If you're interested hmu!

"Oh my god," Lou all but screeched, "The two of you. Are so late. Liam is going to have a cow. I don't even wanna see Simon's reaction. Good god." 

 

Lou's hair was pulled up and tighter than normal. She frantically shooed Harry and Zayn into wardrobe. Zayn smiled softly at Harry before they were separated. Harry's stomach lurched. He still hadn't come entirely clean with Zayn. His face felt tight and uncomfortable. He numbly put the clothes on. Caroline murmured something to him but he was too out of his mind to respond. He helped him into his first outfit and sewed him into it with steady hands. Then she shoved him back to Lou, threatened to kill him if he sat down on his train. 

 

"Christ, Harry? You snog with a cow or something?" Lou chuckled as she put copious amounts foundation covering a hickey on his neck. Harry shrugged.

 

He heard Lou's small intake of breath. Probably in her realization on just who the cow was, mused Harry. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

 

"No? I've got it taken care of. Um, sort of. I mean I have a plan, so..." Harry explained weakly. He meant to tell Zayn last night. Or this morning. But he just kept putting it off. And putting it off. And now they had their final show. Zayn was announcing his retirement and Harry was nothing. Harry didn’t know what was going to happen. To him, to them. It was all up in the air. And Harry knew he had to cut Zayn loose.

 

"I assume you talked about it but, you seem tense. So I just wanna make sure you're all good," Lou explained, applying light pressure to Harry's eyelids. She was putting these false lashes on. Apparently Simon was going all out for this last show. Jeunesss was accentuated by youthful looks. Harry took it that Simon thought this meant eye lashes and dewy eyes and bright shiny skin. 

 

He was a little excited for the show though. There was a dramatic change that occurred in the middle of the show. Where the Jeuness is tarnished. And the clothing becomes much darker the makeup more extreme. He happened to be in love with his last outfit. Even since he had seen the first sketches. But what had he too look forward to when it was all over? He had a contract with Payne Models, yes. But would he even be happy doing this for some time? It paid the bills. But everyone seemed to hate him.

 

Speaking of people who hated him. Louis stomped into the room, he was all done up. No one seemed to pay him much mind though. He looked furious as ever and it wasn't just the make up. He stalked over to Harry, eyes blazing. "What do you think you're doing!" he all but screeched. Everyone in the room stopped. The zen of the green room was clearly interrupted. 

 

"Uh, getting my makeup done?" Harry offered. Lou pinched her mouth tighter but didn't say anything to either of the two of them.

 

"No you asshole. I told you to back off. You sure as hell ain't doing that. Don't you think I know what Zayn is like after he's gotten laid. Pfft, you're an idiot Harry."

 

"Louis," Liam called, walking into the room. The entire room's posture seemed to miraculously improve. People got back to work. Liam was wearing a really sharp suit per usual. And boy did he looked pissed. "Stop scaring the other models, sweetums." Liam effectively diffused any of the tension that had built up in the room. He grabbed Louis by the back of his neck and dragged him away from Harry. Louis looked defeated and let himself be placated by his fiancé. Still shot Harry a glare every so often however even when Liam was in the midst of chastising him.

 

"Oy, what was that all about?" Zayn managed to appear out of know here at Harry's elbow. Harry swallowed.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry lied. He sighed and leaned into Lou’s touch. Zayn took one of Harry’s hand into his own. Running his thumbs into the sore parts of Harry’s hands. Harry didn’t even know he had sore hands. He may have moaned a little bit. But he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Lou’s expression. It was probably disapproving. Or happiness? He didn’t really want to find out.

 

“Louis can be a giant dick head, that’s for sure.”

 

"Oh you know, I don't think he's ever liked me. Or will ever..." Harry shrugged. He didn’t want to burn too many bridges too soon. After all Louis was still the fiancé of his boss and supposedly the best friend of his pseudo hook up.

 

Zayn snorted softly. "I'm sure that's not the problem, babe. Don't worry I'll talk to him. I don't want my best friend shitting on my main squeeze all the time," said Zayn. Harry flushed and internally kicked himself repeatedly. He still had to break up with Zayn of course. Before Zayn realized Harry was a total ass. He really fucked this one up didn't he?

 

...

 

Harry was a flutter after the show. His smile plastered on to his face, thank god they had waterproof make up. Lest Harry would look like a melting wax figure. God how he dreaded the next few hours of his life. Press conferences, the after party. Being forced to socialize with people who just wanted a piece of him or Zayn or a juicy tidbit that might make them a buck or two. His skin prickled at the thought of facing Zayn later or even feeling the heat of Louis constant glare. 

 

"Hey you okay?" Zayn asked, his lips imperceptibly moving, he had a hand on Harry's shoulder. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry's insides might as well have dropped onto the floor. Zayn had to stop being so nice to him!

 

"Yeah fine," Harry said. He shrugged and Zayn seemed not completely satisfied with his answer, but did not pester him further. Harry and Zayn waved a posed for a few more pictures. Then they were fielded into a smaller room adjacent to the runway for a most anticipated press conference. The room was already completely packed with reporters and about five millions flashing bulbs were going off. Harry closed his eyes as he stumbled onto the platform. The flashes were still visible in the pinky orange glow of his shut eyes. Man he was never going to get used to this. And if he did, it wouldn’t be something he’d terribly want to like.

 

Harry gloomily attached a microphone to the color of his final runway outfit handed to him by some aide. They had not even had the decency to let them change. Albeit Harry had taken off the more large scale and obviously difficult parts of his costume. He felt stupid though. Sitting in his shimmery sort of see through shirt in front of a room full of reporters ready to pounce on any word any of them said. Liam sat furthest to the right with Louis pressed close to his side. Then sat Simon, Zayn and finally Harry. Liam gave him a small wave and a thumbs up while Louis scowled at him. 

 

"So," Liam cleared his throat, "If you have any specific questions about the affairs with the Edwards feel free to leave because you will not be getting any clarification here." He surveyed the room sternly. No one seemed phased at all. Liam did not tend to have as much of an intimidating effect on the media as he did on his immediate subordinates. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. His only anchor was the welcome and thoughtful presence of Zayn's hand on his mid thigh. It squeezed gently.

 

"Zayn Malik!" a chorus of voices cried. 

 

"Yes?" Zayn adjusted the mic between his thumb and forefinger. It made a rustling noise, before his voice came out clearly. He looked relaxed. Like he was all too used to this sort of business. He nodded at one of the particularly eager looking members of the press.

 

"Is it true that you will no longer be continuing your modeling career?" 

 

"Well, to be honest," Zayn began without missing a beat, "It is about time I take a break. I worked concurrently throughout the rest of my uni career and for the past few years. I wouldn't say it's over. I just need some time to reevaluate."

 

"Does this decision have anything to do with the events of the last few weeks?" 

 

Liam gritted his teeth and motioned a cutting noise to Zayn. Harry was relieved but only temporarily since Zayn just continued, "Obviously in part it does. I wouldn't say this isn't something I haven't been thinking about for a while though. Having such an early start to my career, I have always been looking to the future. I always knew I wasn’t going to model forever. And of course these recent events gave me plenty of reason to take my break now."

 

"Zayn, how does Harry fit in to all of this?" A murmur of agreements and nodded head sweeped over the room.

 

"Excuse me, can we please keep the questions on campaign related..." Liam said but Zayn gave him a look that said I'm okay I got this. Harry was dying. He was jittery and his skin felt impossibly tight like he might explode at any minute now. Zayn's hand was still on his thigh and it gave him another quick squeeze or two. It burned though. Impossibly hot, his hand felt more like a furnace that Harry knew would hurt him. But it felt too good in the moment to move his leg or shake Zayn off. 

 

"Harry doesn't fit into any of this," Zayn said. The room was completely silent. Harry's heart sunk. It felt like it was slowly dipping into his stomach cavity, burning up in the hydrochloric acid. His throat swelled up, and his face felt hot. Was Zayn dumping him in front of a bunch of greedy reporters. The hush that had went over the room lingered. Liam and Louis shifted uncomfortably. Simon was as stoic as ever. Harry didn't dare spare a glance at Zayn in fear that it might destroy him.

 

"What I mean to say is, I shouldn't have involved him in my problems. I gave him a lot of hell this year, and the press hasn’t been spitting that out. Obviously the blame is a little bit shared. I know the whole Jonathan Ross show was not entirely his fault, even though every one seems to blame him. But I did participate in it. You can't blame just Harry. I'm certainly no better."

 

...

 

A few months later....

 

**_“Youth and Folly: an interview with Zayn Malik and Harry Styles”. Esquire, June 2014 Issue_ **

 

I meet with Harry and Zayn at the Plaza Hotel. They end up both being a little late. They come in breathless and well looking like they're fresh off the runway. Zayn is wearing a Profound Aesthetic snapback which he removes before shaking my hand. He has grown his beard out since his break from modeling, it's manicured to sharp lines over his cheek bones. Harry is in a baggy jumper and jeans, and YSL bandana somewhat controls his mane of hair. They seem much happier than they ever look in the tabloids. 

 

Throughout the interview they share a lot of secret looks and smiles. Clearly the pair is besotted with one another. The honey moon phase still is what I suspect. They cannot seem to keep their hands off one another. Or at least they maintain contact at all times. Zayn orders the three of us his favorite array of dishes for afternoon tea. It seems that Harry has yet to get a handle on the ropes here in New York City. It comes out in elaborate dish sets with beautiful arrangements.

 

I ask them how they've been. They both laugh at that, look at each other and then back to me. "We have been wonderful," Harry all but gushes. His smile is near blinding.

 

"It's been nice to get some well needed relaxing time," Zayn offers. He has a casual air about him. I honestly can’t imagine him getting angry like the rumors say. His voice is crisp and practiced whereas Harry speech is slow and sloping. The contrast is interesting for sure.

 

"Yeah, if you don't mind me prying, what have you been up to?" I ask Zayn. He raises his eyebrows a little bit as if to say I’m not surprised you’re asking this right now. Then he takes a sip of tea. The tea they ordered is superb. Definitely recommended, I believe it’s the house Jasmine-Hibiscus blend.

 

"Well, I guess when I first started my little sabbatical, I went home," Zayn says. 

 

"Yeah, much needed rest," explains Harry,  "It's definitely important to keep closer to your roots. I often forgot about that." Harry sounds as if he is much older than he actually is. He's nearly the same age as my daughter after all at only twenty. Zayn nods a lot. Mostly he seems thoughtful. Like there are millions of things running through his mind. I just hope I'm lucky enough to get a glimpse inside.

 

"After that, Harry and I took a vacation to some secret tropical island. And relaxed in that way. And now, I'm not sure what's next. However I have been considering going back to school for something else. There are a lot of things that I have access to because of my modeling career. I'd definitely want to take advantage of them."

 

"That sounds wonderful. Do you know what you might want to study?" The rumors I've heard about Zayn Malik are clearly false. This boy, no this man is quiet and respectful and surprisingly more intellectual than I had previously assumed. 

 

"I honestly can't say. I've always sort of fancied myself an English teacher when I was a bit younger. But we will have to see."

 

"And you Harry, what are your plans? You've certainly had a whirlwind introduction to this whole world. You must be very excited about the future." Harry brightens a bit. Probably used to people talking to Zayn in favor of him. But I like Harry. He seems like he will be going places, if his charming smile and friendly relaxed nature is any indication. 

 

"Right now I'm actually working on a new campaign. Shh! I'm probably not supposed to tell you that. But, yeah. I'm ready to be loads more prepared this time around. Certainly it'll get easier with time. And maybe this time around there won't be as much drama." Zayn elbows him gently in the ribs. It's playful. I feel as if I'm watching in on a private moment. “I can’t tell you anymore though, because I’m pretty sure a lot of people would be very angry with me.” He laughs. It’s delightful. To be honest, if I hadn’t seen his modeling work I’d think he was some sort of cherubic angel. He’s definitely much too innocent looking.

 

“So, do you have any tips for people interested in potentially entering this world?”

 

Harry snorts, “Don’t do it? You’re better off doing what you’re passionate about. Unless you’re passionate about being poked and prodded and wearing clothes you have to be sewn into. No, I guess my advice would be to know what you are getting into. It’s not as easy as it is made out to be that’s for sure.” Zayn nods in agreement.

 

We all laugh. Zayn’s laugh is surprisingly bubbly. He definitely seems much open and candid than any of his older interviews that I’ve read. Even compared to a few months ago. It’s amazing how much can change in such a short time period.

 

“I guess my last question is, and one that’s certainly been on everybody’s minds, what’s up with you two? Where do you see this going?” They grin at each other.

 

“I think I know better than to try and jump into something I’m not ready for,” Zayn said. “I’m kind of just looking and trying to live in the now. Live in the moment. It’s been working out pretty well so far.”  
  
“What, and here I thought we were forever?” Harry laughs. Zayn claps a hand on Harry’s back. It’s all very playful.

 

“You’re no good, Harry,” Zayn grumbles, when Harry takes the last of the macacrons. They were really good. Highly recommended. But then Zayn goes in at the last minute and swipes the last little bite out of Harry’s hands. Harry sports a massively impressive pout if any of you were wondering.

 

I’m surprised how quickly the time passes just chatting. I’ve barely touched the endless list of questions I have for them. Watch out for Malik and Styles. They’re definitely two to look out for. I know I’ll have my eye on for the next few years.

 

—end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come play with me on tumblr. http://prettymuchjustsomestuff.tumblr.com I draw and do stupid things
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking around. This has been a journey. I'm sorry a lot of characters came and went and the story was super incongruous. But woo. I'm glad to have finished this at last. 
> 
> If you were ever wondering, the title is taken from Lorde's "No Better". But I'm not sure there's any relevance to the actual story in the lyrics.
> 
> Also if you noticed any loose ends....I plan to write an epilogue.


End file.
